Oilzz and stuff (but no salads) Redux
by mynameislizzie2
Summary: OK, this one is an old one too. Bit graphic in parts, so be warned. Emily and Katie are trying to dig themselves out of debt after Robs bankruptcy. They work in the 'Careless Hands 'massage parlour. Katie enthusiastically, Emily not so much. Naomi visits as an investigative journalist. Mayhem.
1. Chapter 1

Emily

"This one is obviously yours" my sister grimaced as the next customer walked into the deceptively plush lobby of our workplace. Of course...it _would_ be...because 'it' was very definitely a woman. Katie doesn't 'do' women. Well, I'll rephrase that, in case you're confused. Since my dad lost his gym, the house and about 95% of all our possessions to a couple of blood sucking banks after he went bankrupt, we've been a bit pushed for cash. Actually, thats not quite accurate. We've been basically destitute. We left the house about 3.5 seconds before the bailiffs broke down the front door and took possession of everything we owned. Well. apart from half my wardrobe (not the better half, unfortunately) and my fanny box, as Katie so charmingly puts it, We are not only homeless, but fucking potless too.

Luckily, my savings account book was in my jeans, as I'd just stuck £50 in there for my, now defunct, Uni fund, but apart from that, nothing...nada...nichts. Fuck all in any language on earth. And I did better than my siblings or my parents. Katie got out with just a handful of leopard print and two thongs. My brother James had his Play Station and five pairs of dirty football socks. God knows what my parents carried out to the car whilst the bailiffs were breaking in. Not much, thats for sure.

So here I am, together with my less conversational twin. Not taking a well earned gap year travelling, as planned (all those hot South American dykes will have to get by without me) but here, now, working in a seedy 'massage parlour' to hopefully earn enough to get us out of that cold, leaky caravan my dad found us after we got thrown out. Not that my parents actually know what Katie and I are having to do to make a living. They think this is a respectable establishment, specializing in reiki, aromatherapy and Swedish massage. Well, on the surface...it is. Katie knew this guy, who knew this woman...you get the picture. The guy nearly creamed his jeans when we turned up. How many times do we have to reiterate that being twins doesn't mean _a_ : we shag each other nightly or _b_ : we 'entertain' our sexual partners collectively. Jesus, YouPorn has a lot to answer for...not that I watch YouPorn much...XHamster has a far better ratio of lesbian movies...Oh fuck, did I say that out loud?

Anyway. We got hired on the spot, on the strict condition (on our part) that we wouldn't massage together. If the clients wanted to indulge their fucking filthy twin fantasies, fine, we're **not** acting them out. Full stop.

Wouldn't work anyway. Katie's straight, I'm gay...that's right 100% 'never want to even hold a cock' gay (and hasn't that worked out well, considering what I do for a living?). Have been since I was 14, or maybe even earlier, if my cute next door neighbour had been a bit more willing to play Nurse to my lady Doctor when I was 12. But enough of that. Katie gets most of the guys, and I get just the odd one and _all_ of the spare women. Don't get carried away with the idea that its a pleasure...well not for us anyway. I suppose Katie gets the benefit of trial running a few erections during her working day, but to be honest, most of the guys and women who show up here for 'treatment' are pretty unattractive. Most are well into middle age, and inevitably the initial 'massage' soon turns into a request along the lines of 'Do you do ... _extra's_?' Yuk.

Well we all do, otherwise we might as well be working in Maccy Dees. Minimum wage and all the plastic burgers you can inhale. 'Extras' involves what you are probably thinking. _I_ don't do anything more exotic than what is described charmingly as 'hand relief' and its easily as gruesome as you're probably imagining. Thank God for extra smooth, extra strong tissues and scented baby wipes. I'm pretty sure Katie is way better at it than me, but then she is playing to her strengths as it were. She probably disposes of the...results...more tidily too...I'm sure I saw a carton of extra strength mouthwash being hauled to her room yesterday...

Extras cost an 'extra' £20 per...activity. The punters pay £20 for the nominal massage, then upwards for whatever else the masseuse is prepared to offer. I might flash my not very impressive tits if a big enough bribe is put on the counter, but as far as participation is concerned, right hand only, arms length and "Here's a tissue mate, your mess, your problem". _No_ touchee the Fitch merchandise is _my_ mantra

So, if we entertain the average 10 punters a day, which is pretty normal, we get £15 of the extra. Tell me where I can earn £150 a day elsewhere, and I'll pack up my lace bustier and fuck off momentarily. Oh yeah, forgot to admit that little detail. Under our 'official' white button up uniform, we have to wear a black bustier, just in case (for that read every fucking time) a customer wants some visual stimulation while he's being...milked.

But I digress. Today Katie has just body swerved a female customer. Without even looking as the woman pays, I'm already undoing the top three buttons of my uniform, because even the female punters like to see some firm flesh before they open their wallets. I turn back to the pay desk with my normal plastic smile painted on ready to say hello..

And then I stop and my mouth falls open like a gallows trapdoor. Jesus H Christ on a bike. She's fucking _gorgeous_ , my brain manages to squeak before expiring like a shot buffalo. Tall...well, taller than me at about 5'6", anyway, peroxide hair, but tastefully done, almost ash white, but not done over a home sink, thats for sure. It falls in soft waves over her shoulders and I take a moment to perv a bit as she's thumbing her PIN into the card reader. She smiles at the receptionist and I swear I had a mini there. Even white teeth, and a cute way of biting her bottom lip when she's asked a question. Don't ask me what the fucking question was, because at that second, she must have felt me staring, because she turned and looked at me quizzically. Now if I was having palpitations over her side view, I don't even know how to describe how I felt when I saw her eyes. Icy blue, with that dark ring round the irises which make them look wonderfully intense. Fuck...how was I gonna stay professional when she was looking up at me from my massage table...naked...waiting.

I'm cooked, I thought, put a fork in me and turn me over.

I only just stopped myself squeezing my legs together at that thought. Seeing as how she was still staring at me, I guess that would have been a bit of a give-away.

But dear Katie interrupted my reverie in her usual polite and considerate way.

"You might want to wait until you get her in private before your tongue does it's heat seeking bit" she whispered in my ear "God, _obvious_ , much?"

Oh I did...I really did want to get her into my booth. I nearly rugby tackled Janice when the silly bitch looked round the reception area looking for volunteers.

"Err. I'll look after this lady" I said, stepping between the customer and Maggie, who was one of our other 'girl friendly' masseuses. No way was I missing an opportunity to for once have an attractive twenty something to work on. Sometimes this job does have its perks, I decided as I escorted her to my room.

I shut the door after her and motioned towards the paper covered leather table, probably the only piece of genuine quality in the whole place. She dropped her cream jacket on the chair by the door and I swooned a bit more. Oh Jesus, I thought, she has _great_ tits too...I promise to say a few Hail Mary's tonight in thanks, honestly, father...

"Actually, I've never had a Swedish massage before" she said, and I realised it was the first time I had heard her say anything. Her voice was low and pleasant, something else to add to the plus column, I thought.

"Thats fine" I said without the usual uninterested drone I used with clients "I've given quite a few. Just put yourself in my hands, and I guarantee a pleasant experience"

Fuck, did I actually say that? She smirked cutely at me, and I lowered my eyes before I gave myself away. Pull yourself together Emily, I told myself, its just a fucking girl. Alright, she's drop dead gorgeous, and why the fuck she is in here, getting a massage in a seedy off street parlour is anyone's guess, but you need to be professional. " _Get her number...get her number_ " my inner devil taunted me

"If you'd just go into that cubicle"...I nodded towards the corner where there was a curtained off changing area "And slip out of your clothes. There is a towel inside which you can use?"

She did as I asked, and I only spoke to God a couple of times before she came out. I didn't think He would grant me this wish, but it doesn't hurt to ask, does it?

When she did come out, I turned my eyes away before I fucking lost control completely. Not only was she only just wearing that small towel, but those long legs seemed to go on for ever. If I have a type...and I'm guessing you have worked that little puzzle out already, she was probably top of my list. Blonde, blue eyes, tall, slim but with killer tits and about three years older than me. Tick, tick, tick went my mental check boxes. Why couldn't I have met her on Saturday night, in a club, where I could have plied her with alcohol and had my wicked way with her in a proper bed afterwards?

Because she's here, now, semi naked and waiting for you to string a coherent sentence together, my mind nagged me. Get a fucking grip, before she loses patience and finds another, English speaking masseuse.

"If you'd lie there, on the massage table, and lay the towel, just across...there, to preserve your modesty...I'll start" I said, not looking at all when she stared up at me, the towel now across her middle, unfortunately covering those magnificent tits and all points south.

I started slowly, with long strokes on her legs, easing the tension in them and only sweating slightly at the thought that her...fanny...was inches from my scented fingers. I used the minimum of oils, because I wanted to feel her skin under my hands. She laid there, breathing evenly and staring at the ceiling impassively. I was a bit disappointed to be honest. If there was ever a time when I wanted a client to ask for extra's and quickly... this was it. My brain was screaming at me "What are you going to say if she asks for... _oral_ treatment, Emily Fitch?"

The answer to that was in my increased breathing and heart rate. What would I do? Have three guesses, they'd all be spot on. In a second, I answered myself... I bet she tastes just as good as she looks. She felt wonderful, tight silky skin and muscle underneath and I started to enjoy this massage more than was strictly necessary. I knew the clock was ticking...we usually timed 'sessions' at 20 minutes, because most guys would be limp and post coitally embarrassed by then. But this was different, on all sorts of levels. I ignored the clock. As long as it takes, I thought...as long as it fucking takes.

Minutes passed.

"Err...Do you do...extras?" she said, breaking my concentration wonderfully.

I thought for a second my ears were playing tricks on me, and I stared at her stupidly for a second or two

"W..what?" I said eventually

"Extras?" she repeated, as if I was educationally challenged "Do you offer them?"

"Only for special clients" I said, still not entirely sure if she was asking for what I thought she was asking for "It costs quite a bit more" I added, dumbly

"Oh that's fine" she smiled, and I promised another twenty 'Our Fathers' to whoever was looking down on me today "I can pay whatever it costs"

For you, nothing is too much trouble, I thought, and as far as money is concerned, I would fucking pay _you_ if necessary.

"What sort of things do you offer?" she smiled cheekily, and I bit my own bottom lip this time, which she noticed immediately.

"Well" I started and then thought...it sounds a bit cold blooded just saying it like a shopping list, why don't I demonstrate?

"There's this" I said quietly, and pulled her towel off completely. She gasped a bit, but stayed still as I hungrily took in her naked body. My nipples were as hard as they had ever been, and I knew my thong would be soaked through too.

"And this" I smiled and unbuttoned my uniform, dropping it onto the floor. I saw her eyes widen at the bustier, which pushed my tits up perfectly, and inwardly cheered that it had that exact effect on her.

"And this" I said in a whisper and began to carefully and slowly caress and squeeze those beautiful breasts. She did that lip biting thing again and I watched her eyes widen even more. Her nipples were standing up proudly, and my thumbs found them automatically, circling and rubbing them. I spent a good two minutes just enjoying the heaviness and firmness of them. Jesus, she has great tits, I almost drooled.

"And this" I said finally pushing her legs apart gently and sliding both hands up towards the place I assumed we both wanted them to be.

She closed her legs before I got there and said in a voice as shaky as it was excited

"Shouldn't we agree a price for these...extra's first?" she said, looking me straight in the eyes.

Fuck it, I thought. Cards on the table. I was as excited as she was, and I wasn't going to be happy until I had her...properly. Fuck the money, fuck my boss. The door was locked and no one was gonna interrupt this.

"There's absolutely _no_ charge for this...err...? I'd say its a pleasure, but that would be the understatement of the year. You might not have noticed, but you aren't the only one excited here. I fancy you like...fierce"

She looked at me steadily for a moment before relaxing her leg muscles.

"It's Naomi" she said slowly "And that's a real pity..."

I stared at her in disbelief. She was going to say no to a 'free one' What the fuck?

"Did I do something wrong?" I stuttered as she sat up and jumped off the table in one move, making for the cubicle and her clothes.

"No" she said from inside, as I heard the rusting of clothes being criminally put back on that spectacular body. Seconds later she emerged, fully dressed and suddenly all business,

"Its... Emily...isn't it?" she said, glancing at my name badge on the uniform I had hastily put back on while she was changing. Suddenly I didn't feel so brave.

"Yeah" I said sadly "And I meant it. You're fucking gorgeous, and I would have offered you what you wanted for nothing. Sorry if you found me unattractive"

She smiled at me with something like real warmth as she waited for me to unlock the door.

"On the contrary" she said "I find you _very_ attractive. Too attractive to do what I was supposed to do to you today. Look, could we meet up after you finish here? I know a place, down the High Street...Italian...Francesco's I think its called...shall we say 8ish?"

Fucking hell...she's asking me out on a date, I thought. I nodded as she handed me a card and swept out of the door. The door slammed behind her and it was a few seconds before I looked down at it.

' _Naomi Campbell – Journalist – Bristol Post_ ' It said.

Fuck...


	2. Chapter 2

This from the beautiful Naomi's POV, and I'll probably alternate like this, without hopefully overlapping too much. I'm not a big fan of complete mirror chapters, which I find a bit boring.

On with the Fingersmith/Careless Hands worker and the wily reporter.

Naomi

Why the _fuck_ I'm sitting here nervously shredding a serviette, I have no idea. What possessed me to invite Miss Hand Job 2016 out for a meal in the first place escapes me. The reason my boss chose me for this investigation is because he thought I could stay completely professional. Yeah, right. There was nothing professional about letting that little brunette play with my tits for nearly two _minutes_ , was there?

I should have insisted she describe the 'extras' she was prepared to offer, and then ' _made my excuses and left_ ', in true News of the World style. OK, the N.O.W. is dead and buried under a mile of corruption and corporate greed, but the principle remains. Journalists get into tricky situations, but just when the dirty deed is about to happen, they throw back their cloak and reveal their superhero outfit beneath. Well, that's the theory anyway. A fucking theory which was blown completely out of the water whilst the cute, probably underage, girl was thumbing my fucking nipples. I mean, she was hot. Not just 'I wouldn't mind shagging THAT' hot, but OMG, I think I'm in love hot. No strike that. I'm _already_ in love, with a perfectly respectable girl called Annabelle, who works in an office, not a skanky massage parlour, buys me flowers at weekends, shags me twice a week very satisfactorily, and wants to get engaged. In fact, I think she may be about to pop the question this weekend, judging by the interrupted whispered conversations she's been having with my mum recently. I haven't actually _seen_ a ring box, but I think it exists...

So why am I sitting here, totally off the work and personal life radar, waiting for this...girl...who played with my body and even more my mind, this afternoon?

Because I needed to see her? Not really. I already know the place offers sexual extras. She may not have verbally listed what they were, but she'd already started to demonstrate what she was happy to provide. No, I needed to see her because she made my tongue twitch and my toes throb. That's the honest answer. I may have dressed it up as professional interest, but the dampness in my knickers told a different story. I don't fucking _do_ cheating...I mean, I'd never even had a lesbian relationship till Annabelle came along. Strictly cock cruncher me, up until I met her. Then **bamm** , I find out what all the fuss was about, no more bristles, no more waiting till he was asleep to finish myself off, no more embarrassing moments when I refuse for the twelfth time to suck something hard and throbbing... Instead it was walks in the park, stolen kisses in deserted offices and then that weekend in Brighton where she showed me just what I'd been missing...no really. 69 was just a number to me before then. I had no idea that two women could make each other _that_ happy. I came more times in that weekend than in entire relationships before. So I was converted. Completely, and happily. My mum was over the moon. She told me she'd always known, which pissed me off mightily.

"If you _knew_ mum, why the fuck didn't you say something, instead of letting me endure 5 years of fumbling men and sticky handkerchiefs?"

"Not my place to define your sexuality Naomi" she said, smiling that really annoying know all smile mothers have patented "We all have to take that journey alone...I didn't know if you were gay or bisexual, so I let you find out for yourself. When you're a teenager, it can go either way...I remember this girl Eva...when I was 17...we.."

"MUM!" I interrupted quickly " Spare me the gruesome details of your adolescent groping...please!"

Thank God she stopped there. I'm psychologically scarred already, coming into her bedroom one morning to find my politics teacher...under the quilt...and I don't think he'd lost his lighter...

So she knew, knew more about me than I did myself, which did my ego no good whatsoever. But she was right of course. Once I accepted I was actually gay, and allowed Annabelle to tutor me very satisfactorily through my belated education, I never looked back. The fact that Annabelle had been my only female lover up to now had never been a factor. She loved me...and I loved that she loved me...that should be enough, shouldn't it?

Well, obviously not, because here I am. Sitting in a restaurant, waiting for a teenage 'masseuse' to meet me. I'm fucked, I thought for the 30th time today...

And then she was there...and fuck me, my toes started up again, not to mention my heart rate and perspiring palms. No bustier this time. I had trouble reconciling the miniature vamp of the parlour with this incredibly pretty but demure brunette. She was wearing a simple lemon summer dress, with spaghetti straps and a pair of flats. She looked about 16, but I prayed she would be over 18.. Jesus, I hope so. Trying to reveal an underage massage scam is one thing, being erotically massaged by a 16 year old is quite another...

"Hi" she said in that low husky voice which seemed too deep for her body "I wasn't sure you'd actually be here...I mean after this afternoon...?"

I hoped the internal twinge I got at the memory of her squeezing my tits wasn't outwardly obvious, but I swallowed hard and forced a polite smile onto my face as she sat down.

"So...?" I started...

"Emily?" she said

"Yeah...Emily" I said hoarsely "Tell me a bit more about yourself"

"Actually...before we start...can I ask a bit about _you_ first?"she said quietly

"Fair enough" I said "You know my name...and I've heard all the shoe and phone jokes, thanks all the same"

She smiled cheekily at that, so I knew it had been thought, if not said.

"I'm 23, a graduate of Goldsmiths University with a first in Politics. I work for the Bristol Post as a general correspondent, and I'm working on a case involving underage sex workers in Bristol"

"That's what you _do_ , Naomi" she smiled "I want to know what you _are_..."

"Oh" I said "Direct... I like that. Well, like I said, I'm 23, I like sunsets, morning coffee, the colour yellow (fuck, I thought...she's wearing bright yellow...) and...I'm gay"

"I sort of figured that last bit out" she smirked " Not many straight girls come into my place of work to get their boobs stroked"

I think my blush was a fraction away from lighting the candle in the middle of the table, but the waiter beat me to it. I used the delay whilst we ordered wine and starters to try to return my features to neutrality. I didn't get away with it. When I next looked at her, she still had that faintly amused look on her face. I decided attack was the best form of defence.

"So...enough about me..what about you...Emily?"

"I'm Emily Fitch, I'm 19, nearly twenty" My mind registered relief at that. At least I hadn't been felt up by a minor "My twin sister and I work at that place because my dad went bankrupt last Christmas and we lost everything. House, car, clothes...everything. It pays up to £150 a day, which it would probably take a week to earn in Tesco's or Maccy Dees, so I reckon in about 3 months Katie and I will have enough put by to put down a deposit on a decent apartment. Then I can get back to getting my law degree and finding a proper career. Oh...and I'm gay too...in case you were wondering?"

I was, but I wasn't about to let her know that.

"Significant other?" I said...apropos nothing, because her relationship status wasn't on my check list at all. Fuck...why did I ask that, I thought?

"Why...are you planning on making a move on me...Miss Campbell?" She grinned cheekily.

" _In a fucking heartbeat_..." My treacherous inner voice said firmly " _in a_ _heartbeat_ "

But I chickened out...of course. Being with Annabelle had taught me to be brave about revealing my new born sexuality...but it hadn't done much to improve my confidence with drop dead gorgeous women like this. Especially ones who were as confident about flirting as Miss Emily Fitch.

"Err...No...Professional interest" I lied " Just background stuff, really"

Her amused smile told me that she wasn't fooled for a second.

"Pity...Miss Campbell" she said "I might have said yes...if you'd asked me"

"Asked you what?" I said dumbly " I haven't asked you anything yet" I finished weakly

"Not with words" she smiled "Not with words...Naomi"

Fuck, if she was going to keep saying my name like that..I was worried that a whole new floor covering would be needed in Francesco's...I wanted her so bad, my mouth actually watered. What about Annabelle? My inner conscience nagged me relentlessly, but it was alarming how I could block that thought, whilst not being able to suppress the wholly inappropriate fantasies my mind was weaving around a naked and writhing Emily Fitch...

"And you?" she said, for once dropping the cute smile

"What?" I tried, knowing exactly what she was asking, but trying to put it off as long as possible.

"Significant other?" she prompted...Again, not fooled. This girl had more steel than fluffiness when she wanted.

I considered telling the truth mum, I promise you. I know you brought me up to be honest and straightforward, despite the consequences, but you aren't here now, with this glorious girl in front of you...her eyes telling me stories that I want to come true so much, I would probably sell my soul to discover.

Luckily, the waiter interrupted us with wine, bread and olive oil, so I had the chance to prepare myself for the biggest lie I had told in years.

"No one special" I lied, and she regarded me seriously before nodding as if pleased.

We spent a few minutes looking at each other over wine glasses, and nibbling bread which tasted of nothing.

"Is the food in here really that good?" she said, looking around the busy restaurant. I blinked at the sudden change of tack.

"W...what...I mean...why?" I mumbled, still trying to stop trembling at my outright lie about Annabelle.

"Because if it isn't..." she reached over and took my hand in hers. An action which made my stomach clench nearly as much as my fanny had when she was playing with my tits this afternoon, "Could I suggest we skip the meal. I don't know about you Naomi...but I want you about as much as I've ever wanted a girl before. We could sit here, eat food we won't taste, drink wine we don't need, and talk about things we don't care about...or we could go back to your place...and finish what we started this afternoon. I could be totally misreading the signals here...but I really want to...get to know you Naomi...do you...want to get to know me?"

I swallowed a mouthful of wine and stared at her...Jesus, straight to the point, or what?

"B...but we've only just _met_?" I spluttered, trying to rescue some control of the situation

"True..." she murmured, still holding my hand " So, are you saying no to...getting to know me... then Naomi?"

Throwing a fifty on the table, which was about three times what I owed for the bread and half bottle of Lacrima Di Christi white wine we had barely touched, I stood up and looked down at Emily.

"I could lie...and tell you I don't feel the same way you do...but I'm guessing you'd see through that. I've never done anything like this before Emily... and I might live to regret it. But fuck it...come on then"

I don't remember a thing about the walk to my apartment which luckily was less than half a mile away. I just remember opening the door and watching her slam it behind us, then turning to look at me like she wanted to devour me in one sitting.

"I've never...ever done anything like this before either Naomi" she breathed "But if you don't kiss me now...and I mean right now, I might explode all over your expensive carpet"

"That would be unfortunate... not to say messy Emily" I managed, with the last coherent thought in my mind for the next half hour "I have plans for those...fucking...beautiful...adorable... kissable lips"

So I kissed her...and she kissed me back. I don't know what the fuck I have been doing for the past 8 years, since my first attempted snog in the Warners with Malcolm Grainger, but it wasn't kissing, that's for sure. At least not if _THIS_ was kissing. I nearly drowned in softness, in wetness and in total, undeniable...toe curling... pleasure. She held onto my hips while I tried to map out her mouth with mine. I don't remember who used their tongue first, just that when we touched, it was like a virtual explosion in my brain...and places further south. Both of us were moaning, and both of us were tearing at buttons and zips. By the time she had walked me backwards to my bed, I was stripped to the waist, and her breasts were caressing mine like extra hands. When I fell backwards onto the bed, I watched her drop the dress from around her waist into a yellow puddle at her feet. She wasn't wearing a bra, and my mouth went completely dry as I realised that her white thong was so thin and wispy, I could see right through it. She was already wet for me...

"Off!" she said gruffly, looking down at my own skirt. I nearly gave myself a hernia tearing it off, together with my oh so sensible stripy girl shorts. I caught her small grin at what I was hiding under my skirt, and inwardly cringed that I hadn't thought to wear something considerably sexier for her.

When I was naked, and she'd dropped the tiny thong onto the dress on the floor, she took one last hungry look up and down my body before lowering herself slowly on top of me. We fitted together like we had been designed as complementary beings. She took her weight on her elbows and let her nipples graze mine until we were both groaning at the teasing.

After that, it was all a bit of a blur. A fantastic, sensation filled, erotic blur, but still a blur. If Annabelle had been a revelation in bed, Emily was a supernova. I don't know if it was just that we were made to give each other pleasure, but there didn't seem to be any limit to how high we could take each other. She kissed me all over, reveling in my whimpers and whispered pleas, she licked me, she fingered me and finally she fucked me...hard and fast. At the end, when she had teased me to distraction, stopping just before I came...over and over again..I held her head in both hands and growled at her.

"Emily...if you don't finish me now...I'm going to actually die from frustration"

She grinned up at me from between my legs, her lips wet from my excitement, then dipped down again...thrusting three fingers straight inside me, using her tongue in counterpoint to the fast in and out movements. I threw my head back and screamed my release towards the uncaring ceiling. She wasn't finished though, and slowly licked me through the aftershocks, building the sensations past anything I had known before. I didn't think I was capable of another orgasm that quickly, but she proved me wrong. Oh Annabelle, I thought...if you were 6th form college, this is a fucking Masters Degree...

When I returned the favour... Which took quite a while, as I needed way more recovery time than I'd ever needed before, I was determined to equal her efforts. I don't know if I succeeded, but my hair roots can testify to her grip. She was quieter than me when she came, but her body shook like she had been plugged into the mains. When we finally finished pleasuring each other, we were drenched in sweat and trembling like two shipwrecked souls, cast onto a far away beach. I'd never had sex like that before, but I knew if I lived another hundred years, no one else would be able to wring another ounce of sensation from me again. She fucking ruined me that day. Ruined any chance of ever being the same Naomi Campbell again...ruined any hope of me and Annabelle getting married, and totally ruined the chance of finding anyone else who could come that close to shattering me in bed.

We both slept for an hour after we'd whispered casual nonsense to each other for a few minutes...and when we woke...we went at it again... Slower, more tenderly, but with exactly the same result. This time, when we came...within seconds of each other, we were face to face on our sides, fingers busy between the others legs. Her eyes held mine as she shuddered in surrender. I didn't know it then, but I fell in love with Emily Fitch at that moment.

I woke up first and turned to face her. She was curled up like a little dormouse, hands under her chin, fists clenched. My heart lurched as I looked at her sleeping. Awake, Emily was a sexual tornado, all invention and eagerness, asleep she was just plain adorable. She looked younger than her 19 years, and as I brushed a lock of hair away, so I could see her whole face, I thought again that she had ruined me for anyone else. I got another sharp pang of guilt as Annabelle's face appeared in my mind. Dear, sweet Annabelle. Endlessly loving, endlessly forgiving...although she wouldn't be now...not this time. We'd never cheated on each other, not even at first, when sex with another girl was new and strange and...terrifying. She'd been patient with me and my stupid closed off mentality, always over analyzing and finding ways to fuck things up. And now, here I was in bed with another girl...a girl who had blown all my smug conceptions and certainties out of the window. A girl, who in one afternoon, had changed the way I think about everything.

She stirred as I watched her, and spoke without opening her eyes.

"If you're gonna eye fuck me Naomi...you might want to wait till I'm conscious?"

I grinned as she opened her eyes and stared at me, a cheeky smirk on her face.

"I wasn't planning on using my eyes..." I whispered, reaching out and pulling her to me. She opened her mouth and accepted my hungry kiss eagerly...

15 minutes later, with all my fresh fears and uncertainties blown away by another slow and erotic make out session, I fell back onto the bed and looked up at the ceiling.

I felt her turn onto her side and face me. She traced my face with her fingertips and then took my hand, kissing it and licking my fingers which still held her scent.

"Naomi?" She said quietly "What _are_ we?"

I turned to face her and saw the doubt in those beautiful eyes. I realised that she was as shocked as me at what we had just shared.

"We're Naomi and Emily..." I said "We've just met, and I think we're both fucked...and I don't mean physically"

"Yeah..." She breathed " That's pretty much what I think...but where do we go from here?...I mean... I really like you...not just like this...in bed...but I think we both know this could be something special...something more..."

I swallowed hard...I knew exactly what she meant, but I had no more idea than she did about what to do about it. And unlike Emily... I had a secret...a secret which wouldn't go away. A secret called Annabelle...

"What do you want us to be Emily?" I said, colder than I meant to sound, looking into her eyes and wishing I could change the facts as easily as I changed copy at work " Like you said, we've just met...and had the most amazing sex...but we hardly know each other...I mean, I'm a journalist who's supposed to be investigating the place you work...and tomorrow you'll go back to...doing what you do...with strangers...I don't actually _know_ how we're going to make this work"

Me and my big mouth. I always had the capacity to make a hard situation worse, and here I went again.

"So this is just like... _research_ for you then" she said bitterly "Fuck the little 'prostitute' and forget about it tomorrow?"

"No...Emily, that's NOT what I meant at all...I'm sorry..."

But she was up and out of the bed before I could say anything else. I sat up and watched her putting her dress back on, shooting me angry looks as she looked for her shoes.

"I'm not your fucking experiment" she growled..."Anyway...aren't we doing this a bit back to front...shouldn't you be leaving me...and maybe fifty quid on the dressing table...seeing as how I'm the whore in this transaction?"

I tried to tell her I was sorry, but she waved away my protests.

"No, Naomi..." she said in a brittle voice " I think we're clear now. You can go back to your perfect life tomorrow. I'll go back to being a slut...and you can use tonight as stimulation...next time you fuck a 'normal' woman?"

And then she was gone. Just the echo of the slammed door testament to her absence.

I dropped back onto the bed and blew a deep breath towards the ceiling. Nice one, Naomi, I thought...now you don't have a problem to discuss with Annabelle any more... Do you?

XXX

Emily

My eyes burned with hot tears on the way home. What had I even been thinking about? I must have some sort of inbuilt beacon that attracts trouble. After Sasha, I should have known better. My ex had comprehensively destroyed my self confidence after shagging my best friend at that party, and now I've gone and thrown the dice again with some stuck up uber professional who fancied mixing a bit of pleasure with her business. How could I have been so wrong? The sex was awesome...even if it had been a while since I've let myself go like that. I thought we had something there. Contrary to what she obviously believed, I don't give out that many 'extras' and I definitely don't meet up with 'clients' to shag after work. The sex had been a very welcome side salad...the main course had been the instant attraction I'd felt for this Naomi Campbell. I tore the business card with her name on it in half and dropped it in the nearest litter bin. As I waited for the bus, I told myself that I was never going to fall for that sort of bullshit again. Next time I'm horny and bored, there's a battery powered friend in my bedside cabinet who never disappoints...and doesn't need any maintenance.

I slept fitfully that night. She didn't have my mobile number anyway, so at least I didn't have to endure any half arsed apologies...that's if she even cared that she'd upset me. Luckily the next day was my last shift for the week, so after Katie and I split in reception, I closed my mind to yesterday, and 'serviced' my normal 6 clients for the afternoon. One flash of my, not very impressive, tits...5 hand jobs and one dirty talk episode whilst the client...'helped himself' and I was about ready to call it a day. It was early evening, and I was planning to go out and get wasted with my new best mate Tara. She was straight...well occasionally bi...one frantic against the wall finger fuck when we were at college hadn't gone any further, and we'd stayed friends after. So we were going to get hammered in the corner pub next to my road, before hitting some potent E's I had scored from my sisters boyfriend, and then Jammers Club...a few more beers, another E and if I was lucky, a straight girl with curiosity overload after I flashed my best 'come and fuck me' smile. Straight girls never come back for more...once they sober up, its back to the missionary work with the boyfriend. Perfect distraction technique for my aching heart.

I started to pack up my stuff and put away the small bottles of scented oil on my table. No more messy tissues today, if I was lucky. When the intercom on the wall next to my door buzzed, I groaned in frustration. Bollocks...another hyper punter with a hard on and no one to take care of it for him.

"I know you're finishing" Maggie said "But this one asked for you specially...said it won't take long"

I thought about saying no...but another client was at least another £15...enough to buy a round of flaming sambucca's. Fuck it...I took down the cheapest bottle of oil...no point in wasting the good stuff on a 30 second wank. If he was that excited already that's all it would take. I pulled out a good handful of tissues and stuffed them in my uniform pocket.

When the door opened, and I heard someone coming in I was facing the small opaque window to the alley. I spoke without looking round.

"Take off your things...I'll be with you in a second"

"Emily?" a voice spoke...a voice which definitely didn't come from a nervous male punter " Can we talk?"

I spun round so fast, I nearly did a complete 360.

"Naomi?" I said "What the _fuck_ do you want?"

She smiled at me weakly, a smile I didn't return. I looked back at her coldly.

"I said what do you want Naomi" I spat.

"I need to tell you something" she started

"What...you've discovered that you can't get it cheaper on the High Street...that after hours visiting service is more convenient? What is it exactly that you want to say to me that you haven't already said?"

I started towards the door, determined to throw her back out in the corridor. Fuck the £15, fuck the boss...fuck the receptionist who would report me to him. I wanted her out... Now.

She stood in front of the door, blocking my way.

"Out of the way" I growled, but she stood her ground.

"Not till you hear what I've got to say" she said' and for the first time, I noticed that her eyes were puffy and red. Someone else had done some crying then.

"I lied to you" she said flatly

"No shit Sherlock" I snorted "What about...being gay, because I'm sorry sweetheart, no one straight could have enjoyed that as much as you did? Or about being interested in me...instead of just my massage technique?"

"Neither" she said, a fresh tear slowly making its way down her cheek " I lied about not having a significant other"

"Oh fucking great!" I said bitterly "So not only did you fuck me...and fuck me over...but you're a fucking cheater too...this just gets better and better...now get out of my way before I knock you out"

She shook her head, eyes looking everywhere but back at me.

"No" she said, and I wondered briefly if extreme stupidity was a requirement for journalists nowadays

"Because I'm not cheating anymore...I dumped my girlfriend this afternoon...I dumped her because I haven't been able to get you out of my head...not for an hour...not even for a minute. I have no idea if we can make this work. I have no idea if you can forgive me...but all I do know is that I have to try...I'm asking you for one more chance...just one"

Jesus, how do you follow that kind of confession?

"So let me get this straight then " I said "You came here yesterday to do some research, fancied me, arranged to meet me after work...screwed me, lied to me about your other half, and then more or less told me that as I'm a prostitute, you don't know if it could work out, and now...now you've dumped your girlfriend, and expect me to what...take you back with open arms...fall into your embrace like the wimp you obviously think I am?"

"Thats pretty much it..." she said " except I don't and never have thought of you as anything but Emily...someone I really want to get to know properly. And I dumped my girlfriend because telling you one lie was bad enough. I wasn't going to tell you another. I have no idea why I'm behaving totally out of character. I don't do spontaneity, I don't do random things. But in one afternoon, you've turned my world upside down. I thought love at first sight was total bullshit...and I might still be right about that. But I think you felt what I felt yesterday, and I'm here to see if I can apologize properly for being such a tit, and to...see if you'll give me the chance to put it right?"

Well, I wasn't expecting that. I stood there with my mouth open for a bit. I wanted to hate her, I wanted to tell her to fuck off...but somehow the words wouldn't form in my mouth.

She must have seen the conflict in my eyes, because she closed the space between us. Jesus, I couldn't think straight before. Now when she was this close, her eyes holding mine and her face so close I could feel her breath on my skin, I seemed to have lost the power of rational thought completely.

"This doesn't mean you're forgiven" I said weakly..."This doesn't mean I'm not still really angry with you for assuming things about me...this doesn't..._

I never got to finish that sentence, because a pair of soft and searching lips covered mine and two possessive arms folded round me until I couldn't move.

"I want to take you on a proper date,..Emily Fitch" she said , moving her head to the side and whispering in my ear. But first...first...I really need to...I have to..."

She didn't need to finish that sentence either. In seconds my clothes and hers were on the floor. The door was double locked and we found out that the expensive padded massage table was plenty strong enough to take two...I'd never been much for the 69 position...usually I'm either concentrating too hard on getting the woman under me (OK, so I'm a natural top...) to come, that I don't orgasm myself, or vice versa...if she's good at it, I get immersed in what I'm experiencing and don't get her there. Another fucking example of the strange and frankly disturbing way this woman works outside the norms. She had her head propped up on two pillows below me...there...and her tongue was relentless. And even though I was concentrating on giving her the biggest orgasm of her life... And believe me, I was fucking _trying_...she still managed to get me off within seconds of her bucking upwards and pushing my head hard between her legs. The fact that she was moaning into my sex while she was coming had a lot to do with the frantic way I came too. Nothing like a bit of verbal encouragement...

Unfortunately, the table only being 3 feet wide, there wasn't enough space for a lot of post coital pillow talk. I wish I could control myself better around her, but it never seemed to happen. Whatever happened to three dates, coffee and _then_ sex?...we seemed to have bypassed all the usual mating rituals. I had no way of resisting her when she was in touching distance, and it seemed that the feeling was mutual.

We dressed a damned sight slower, in that sort of semi embarrassed way you do when you sleep with someone new. Not that I'd woken up, or shared a bed with too many other women. I'm ashamed to say that most of my sexual experiences have been of the one off, club toilet type. Usually when I'm stoned and pissed. I am braver then, more likely to take a chance on a rebuff from whoever is currently grinding against my arse on the dance floor. I'm not a complete slut...but the last 3 girls I've shagged have names I couldn't tell you from memory. If I was pushed, I'd describe them as tall girl, small tits, came on my fingers and then ran out to her straight friends... Short blonde girl, bigger tits, wanted to feel what a girls tongue felt like...down there..and after she came, screaming...refused to finish me off...and Emo girl...great tits and vocabulary...wanted to take a picture of me on her iPhone whilst I was going down on her in the hallway of my building... Not exactly firm friends, any of them.

"So..." I said, after were both decent..."Where does this go from here?"


	3. Chapter 3

**OK, chapter three and a warning for the last part. Sexual assault is nasty and unforgivable. But it happens to people. If you are of a sensitive disposition, look away now?**

Naomi

The evening sun was just edging down over the top of the grimy grey apartment block opposite, casting a weak, almost ethereal orange glow into my bedroom. I felt Emily stir sleepily next to me and couldn't suppress the soppy smile I knew had appeared on my face. She was lying there curled up beside me, sleeping soundly after our...exertions of today... _all_ fucking day actually. A Sunday at Chez Campbell to be savoured. It still surprised me, even after two weeks of being with her, that we could excite each other so much every time our naked skin so much as touched. No...strike that thought...every time our eyes met, that's normally all it took.

The speed of our new status had left me breathless, and that wasn't just because Emily was a skilful and passionate lover. After Annabelle had tearfully moved out, Emily had more or less moved right in. OK, she still went 'home' several times a week, but neither of us seemed capable of saying goodbye, even for a few hours.

Farewells on the doorstep meant kisses, and kisses led inevitably to caresses. Soon enough, zips and buttons became a hindrance. Then all bets were off. A naked Emily has only one place in my world. Spread wantonly on my bed, ready for me to wonder again at her perfection. From her cupid bow lips, her pink tipped breasts, down to that baby smooth junction where my fingers and tongue spent most of our hours together, every inch of her was ripe for exploration. And boy, didn't I love exploring. Not that she left me to that delightful task. Her mapping of my body with her hands and tongue were just as addictive. Addicts, both of us, hooked on each other. The real world seemed a million miles away when she was in my arms, whispering words of love in my ear.

Love at first sight? Yep, the French have it down right. Coup de foudre...

Just then a passing grey cloud blocked the evening sun and interrupted my reverie. My mood dipped to join it.

Because, well _because_ it made me remember that she was still doing... _that_...for a living, and every time I recalled how she earned her money, my stomach would clench and an icy ball inside me would freeze over some more. I loathed, no I fucking _hated_ the fact that other eyes would be feasting on her perfect skin, her perky breasts, her soft lips. They were mine, they belonged to me. I knew that for certain. She'd never given me an atom of doubt that she was mine, and I hers since that fateful afternoon. But knowing that every day, random guys would pay her to bare her top half before using her hands to get them off, absolutely killed me. The same hands that had daily since the first day together caressed me, stroked me, entered me...loved me. It was agony. But one of the things journalism had taught me was the ability to project a calm exterior, even while my insides were churning. It almost worked...just not quite. Occasionally the green monster inside me roared.

It was roaring now.

Laying here, after hours of glorious, ecstatic sex, it was almost impossible to believe that in less than 18 hours she would be smiling a false, professional smile before unbuttoning a pair of anonymous male trousers and stroking some priapic businessman while he drooled over her tits. The post orgasmic glow I had been enjoying up till now was rapidly wearing off. Luckily I hadn't woken my love with my noisy over thinking. She knew...every time she mentioned her work...that I seethed inside and despite my best efforts, I knew without her saying that she understood my pain. Jealousy is one thing. I've been there before, even if most of my previous lovers were disposable units, but this was different. Even though Emily was determined this job of hers was purely temporary, just until her and Katie had enough saved to get out of the financial black hole their father had dropped them into it still made me cringe every single time she came back to mine, always spending half an hour in a hot shower, scrubbing herself, before coming to me...Doubt...awful, dark and bitter, overwhelmed me then... and it showed.

She stirred again as I lay on my back, staring miserably at the pale ceiling. I heard her murmur something indistinct. I don't know what the rest of the garbled sentence was, but when I heard my own name. It was enough to lift me out of the introspection I had drifted into. I sighed. There wasn't anything, short term anyway, I could do about her chosen profession. But I was icily determined that it would be as brief as humanly possible. Living with Annabelle had taught me one thing useful. Being together meant sharing everything. And sharing my life with Emily Fitch was my sole ambition nowadays. Whatever it took to get her out of there, I would do. I sighed again and turned onto my side, reaching round her body until my hand found her soft breast. She muttered in her sleep again and wriggled her bare bottom into my stomach. I cupped her gently, remembering with a thrill how that part of her body had shook and bounced as she had crouched over me less than an hour ago. The sight of her squeezing her breast in one hand thumbing the hard nipple whilst circling her little nub with the other as I feasted between her legs, had charged my libido to nuclear levels. I'd never allowed Annabelle to sit on my face like that. For some reason it felt too submissive...too out of control. But when Emily hissed in my ear what she wanted me to do to her, I scrabbled frantically to accommodate her wish. I could never get enough of her taste, the way her hips bucked as my tongue found her over and over, competing with her circling finger to lap her clit. When she came, staring into my eyes open mouthed and gasping, my tongue and jaw ached like hell, but I would have done it for another hour if she'd wanted. Watching a naked Emily Fitch orgasm on your mouth is definitely up there as the eighth wonder of the world...Thats one thing I knew, or hoped, her clients never saw. Even the female ones. Oh yeah, that little issue burned even more...I couldn't have been the only half attractive woman who visited the parlor for...relief, could I?

But her sighs and wriggling bottom distracted me from the ever present gloom.

Warmth spread in the base of my stomach at her movements. Despite the hours of exhaustive stimulation, I knew I wanted...no _needed_...her again.

Emily muttered something indistinct again and covered my hand as I gently kneaded her breast. Her fingers pressed mine on to her rapidly hardening nipple. She moaned deep in her throat. A sound I would walk a hundred miles over broken glass to hear every day of my life from now on.

"Again baby?" she whispered, husky with sleep.

"Fuck yeah" I whispered back, licking the perfect shell of her ear, then moving my hand down over her flat stomach until it reached the junction between her legs. She stretched herself slowly, like a cat being stroked and opened her thighs to my gentle pressure. I found her wet and warm, just as I had left her an hour ago. I dipped inside her cloying heat with one probing finger, using the slick moisture to tease her already erect clit.

"Oh fuck yes" she hissed and rolled her hips to the rhythm of my stroking "You can wake me like that any time you like babe..." The rotating movement of her smooth arse into my crotch reminding me that I was as hot for this as she was.

Her hand stopped guiding mine now it had arrived where she needed it. Now it burrowed behind her, searching for my own sex. I opened my legs to let her play. In seconds we were grinding together, fingers moving in synchronized delight. So she wanted me to fuck her?

World War Three wouldn't have stopped me.

So I did. Its not true that orgasms diminish with repetition, at least not with Emily Fitch. Coming with her was never, ever going to be routine...once again the room echoed to our moans and cries.

XXX

Emily

"No fucking _way_ Katie" I spat, not really believing my ears at what she'd just asked me to do.

"Em...its not as if I want to go either...but fucking Max has me over a barrel, and he has pictures and stuff from work...I can't afford to find myself on poxy YouTube wanking off strangers"

" **Not** my problem Katie" I growled, looking at her as if she was stark staring mad "If you were stupid enough to skim the takings...which is just plain fucking dumb, if you ask me...there's no way I'm paying off _your_ debt. We were earning good money just using our right arms and a winning smile, what the fuck possessed you to do that other... stuff...especially without cutting the management in? They know how it works, stupid... It's their business"

Katie tried to interrupt, but I held my palm up towards her. This time, sibling empathy was out of stock.

Then she tried the patented 'poor me' look she had been using on me since we were 4. Usually after she'd done something naughty and wanted me to take MY share of HER punishment. Well, being scolded by my scary mum for putting all the toilet rolls down the loo was one thing, but agreeing to attend this fucking 'party' with her as eye candy because the owner of this classy wank establishment had worked out she had been fiddling her customers and more importantly him was quite another. I had a very good and vivid idea what our role at the party would be. Wearing matching 'barely there' outfits, serving drinks to fat businessmen and finishing up with a jolly free for all twin fuck for the invited perverts. No way was I going to be the entertainment for the sweaty bastards to jerk off to. No fucking _way_ Jose. And now I had Naomi to consider. Despite my initial reservations, the girl _had_ given up her soon to be fiance for me. For better or for worse, she was IT for me.

I wanted this relationship to work.

"Look Ems" Katie said brightly, as usual, taking no notice of my stony expression. "I keep telling you, its not _that_ kind of party. Yes, we'll have to dress to impress and yes, the fat creep will probably want us to smile and flirt with his guests, but no way will we be expected to fuck them. I told him that was never going to happen. He's agreed to write off what I owe and let us carry on earning at the parlour if we both go to this thing on Saturday night...come on sis, I fucking need you with me"

I laughed bitterly at her new found innocence.

"Katie" I growled " He's a professional liar, you dozy bitch"

"And hasn't it crossed your tiny mind that the word of a back street pimp who earns his money getting young girls to flash their tits and toss of guys isn't quite like a promise from the Archbishop of Canterbury? Katie...there's only two reasons he's willing to write off that money you stole. And we're standing here. Twins, remember? Don't forget what he was like when I refused to give the clients any more than my right hand? Like a baby whose dummy's been taken away. I saw his face...he's no different to any other horny guy we've known since we grew tits. They have this twisted notion that we grew up fingering each other until we discovered boys. Men never lose that twin thing dream?"

Katie bit her lip and sighed. She fucking knew I was right. I could have given up work forever if I just got a tenner every time a boy suggested a threesome with us. Fuck me, James Cook would have been into us for hundreds alone...

"Ems...please, I _need_ this. We're only a few hundred quid away from being able to pack it all in. We flash our tits at guys every day anyway...what's the difference if a couple of overpaid hoorays pinch our arses a few times. I've already told Max we're not doing anything sleazy. Come on sis, please..."

"I fucking hate you sometimes Katie" I gritted through my teeth. "It may have escaped your narcissistic notice, but I have an actual _girlfriend_ now? Like a proper grown up girlfriend? How is she gonna feel about me peddling my arse at some 'private party' when she's already torn up about my fucking day job as it is?"

"Not a _proper_ girlfriend though, is she?" Katie said, folding her arms "She's a fucking middle class journo, Ems...having a fling with the little working class tart until the novelty wears off"

I screamed in frustration at the ceiling. This was so fucking familiar. Katie refusing to accept lesbians even have actual relationships. She conveniently forgot her frequent heterosexual pub toilet encounters all through our teenage years and still imagined my only 'relationships' comprised the same sort of sterile sexual encounters she read about in my back copies of Diva. When I shagged some kid from college, more as a pity gesture than anything, she had actually shouted that I needed her _permission_ to drop my knickers. That 16 year old Katie still existed in my 20 year old sister and I fucking hated it.

"I thought we'd sorted this out, I said flatly "I don't need your permission to shag anyone, didn't you get the memo? For your information, Naomi _is_ a proper girlfriend. She gave up a serious relationship, a **fiancee** for me? We see each other virtually every night, my toothbrush is in her bathroom...my underwear is in her bedroom chest...and for your further information, bitch...she's the best fucking shag I've ever had...God the things she can do with that tongue are..."

"STOP" Katie roared, holding her hands over her ears. "I believe you, OK? Fuck me, the last thing I want in my brain is the mental image of that giant lezzer with her head between your legs"

"Right" I said wryly "Which is so much worse than catching your twin sister in a full on 69 with the wife of the guy next door...on _my_ fucking bed too!"

She had the grace to look a little shame faced at that. After spending our early teenage years at first denying, then mocking my 'gayness' she'd had the cheek to find out about muff munching from the object of my own pubescent desires. Karen was flame haired, slim but with impressive tits. I'd harboured a burning desire to shag her from almost the time I discovered masturbation. I thought she was 100% straight, what with her muscly builder husband and perfect 3 bed suburban life. Safe...that's what I thought Karen was, a pneumatic milf with a pair of tits I could fantasize over whilst diddling myself in the shower. Turned out she wasn't 100% anything. And Katie in her experimental stage, would try just about anything. When we were little, if I liked a toy, Katie had to have it. Not a similar one, not another one bought for her. MY toy.

And Karen was my fantasy older woman. So Katie had to have her. I'd never had had the courage to seduce my neighbour, no matter how much my mind ached for it. Katie had no qualms making her availability obvious. So one summer afternoon, while Mum and Dad were with James at his school sports day, my sister found out two things. She wasn't 100% straight herself, and that the articles in Cosmo I'd shown her about girls being shit hot with their tongues was dead on. If it had been anyone else enthusiastically 69ing with my neighbour, I might have stayed and watched, but like I've said a million fucking times, twincest is for 70's porn films and fan fiction. In real life, its vomit inducing.

Katie spluttered as she always did when I brought up the subject of her betrayal.

"That was _one_ time Em...I was just a kid...curious, right? If you remember, _you_ were the one who used to fantasise about shagging Karen. I just got there first. I was 17, for fucks sake... _experiments_ , eah?"

I shrugged. Its true that Katie much prefers playing the pink trombone nowadays, but I seemed to remember our mutual best friend Amelia exiting a bedroom at a party once, closely followed by my twin, at least a year after the Karen episode. By the looks of their makeup and clothing, they hadn't been playing soggy biscuit and braiding each others hair. But that aside, this wasn't getting the issue resolved. Katie wanted me to go to this awful party as moral support, and I knew that Naomi would go batshit if I did... What the fuck was I to do?

XXX

So, inevitably Saturday night my 'proper' girlfriend guiltily lied to and persuaded that I actually _was_ going to see my ailing grandmother with my twin sister (well, the bit about my grandmother being unwell was sort of true...you don't get much more unwell than being dead, do you?) I was tripping over Katies abandoned towel as I exited the bedroom, wearing what my sister had described as a 'killer dress'. I'd much rather have been wearing the tiny purple cocktail dress for my actual girlfriend, but I had to admit I looked quite hot. Off one shoulder, with a hem which matched the angle so that most of my right thigh was visible, it fitted me like a glove. A very tight, figure hugging glove. The push up bra Katie had insist I bought in the same shop made me look as if I was at least a cup size bigger than my 32b's and matched the dress. That's to say it was purple, lacy and very flimsy. I refused the thong Katie had wanted me to buy with it. I already had a nice pair of purple lace cut away knickers. I didn't need vaginal dental floss to complete the picture. I had no intention of letting any of Max's 'clients' delve into either piece of underwear and I'd made Katie swear that we'd not be separated all night. Bad enough I was expected to play eye candy and flirt with the invited bigwigs. Fuck being served up with the port and cheese at the end of the meal.

An hour later, we were exiting a taxi in the grounds of one of those edge of town golf club hotels. All manicured grass and illuminated Georgian columns. Judging by the cars already in the graveled car park, cash wasn't an issue that bothered the invited guests. Rolls, Bentleys, Astons and the odd Range Rover Vogue. There was more money in the metal inhabiting this corner of Avon than I would ever earn in a lifetime, no matter how many stiff dicks I milked dry.

Katie stared at the place, a satisfied smirk on her face. Despite her worldly experience, my sister is still quite an innocent abroad. She still thinks money equals class. Believe me, you'd think 5 months wanking off horny businessmen would have knocked that out of her by now. OK, being 90% straight, she didn't have my aversion to most things male. But seeing councillors, policemen and civil servants with their trousers down and their tongues (and other, less savoury things) hanging out, soon disabuses you of any respect for our so called betters. Men with power and influence use boys and girls like us for pleasure. We're not seen as human, just playthings to be used and discarded. That's why I admire Naomi so much. She believes in justice and righting wrongs. I love her for that, even if the betrayal of being here tonight made my conscience stab me painfully. She DEFINITELY wouldn't agree with me putting myself on the line for Katie at this sort of soiree. And this was a secret I knew would never be forgotten or forgiven if it ever came out.

"Well hun...shall we?" Katie smiled at me, taking my hand as we walked up the stone steps in our new heels. The huge double glass and wood doors at the top opened as we got there. We were expected...and I wasn't looking forward to whatever waited behind those fancy doors.

XXX

I hate being fucking right.

Its midnight. We were walking, if thats the right word, along the same country road the taxi had taken us in the other direction. My posh dress was torn, the consequence of trying to physically stop an overweight County councillor from ripping it off me and one of my heels had broken. If that was the extent of my injuries, I would have considered myself lucky right then.

Two hours of drinking expensive champagne, flirting unenthusiastically with the dinner jacketed dodo's either side of me was bad enough. After the meal, we all 'retired' to an upstairs room which was equally liberally supplied with alcohol. There were five other girls there, of various ages. Some of them were definitely just off the school bus, so I guess Naomi's quest to expose Max for his use of underage pussy was spot on. But we had no time to ponder on it. There were only 5 men and their wives invited to the after dinner entertainment. But those wives were definitely the experimental type. One predatory peroxide blonde in her 40's made a beeline for me, pressing her over exposed bosom onto my shoulder as she poured me a wobbly glass of champagne. I had been sensible up to then, using water between glasses to limit my consumption. But with Katie currently being wooed by two guys who looked like rugby playing used car dealers, I failed to attract her eye.

I don't know what was in the fucking champagne, but it certainly wasn't put there by a French vineyard. The room started slipping around me and I found it increasingly hard to concentrate on what the woman was saying. Not that I needed a translator. "You, me, bed, fuck" is pretty universal.

I had no intention of opening my legs or my mouth for her. But I was stupid enough to let myself be guided out of the room supposedly looking for a bathroom. Not many bathrooms have a bed in them, do they? I tried, I really fucking tried to get my body to obey my mind, but within minutes she was sloppily kissing me and I found my dress around my ankles. When she pressed me backwards onto the bed, I protested, but my words sounded weak, even to me. I could feel her fingers on me, exploring places I only wanted Naomi to explore.

If that had been the worst of it, I would still felt myself lucky. But it wasn't.

Having a reasonably attractive if a little overweight housewife go down on me would have been bad...very bad, but once she got me naked I heard the door open and a male voice say something to her. All at once stronger and more aggressive hands were all over me. I croaked a refusal which was ignored by both. Lets just say while my female 'protector' was holding my face into her tits, her boyfriend/husband took the chance to get at me from behind.

I don't know how long it went on for. Minutes? Hours. But eventually they left. I laid there crying for a long time before staggering to my feet. My underwear was nowhere to be seen, probably souvenirs for the recently departed date rapist couple, but my torn dress I managed to squeeze back into.

It took me several rooms and a couple of apologies for entirely unwanted surprise bits of voyeurism before I found Katie. Sandwiched between the two rugby types. Their wives were nakedly entwined on another bed. They were all asleep, but by the looks of them, and my sister, a good time was had by all. Katie had tear streaks down her cheeks and she was doing what I had done minutes before. That is staring at the ceiling and weeping. I hauled her to her feet, ignoring the drunken protests from her recent new friends. We crept out of the room, putting on our shoes when we got to the wide staircase. The night porter gave us a salacious wink as we passed him in the reception area. We could have asked him to call a cab, but my skin was crawling with the need to get home, have a long hot bath and sleep. I fucking knew what was going to happen, but still I let her talk me into it. I hated Katie, and I hated myself for being so weak. But most of all, I hated Max.

It was over two miles to the main road, and Katie complained all the way. I ignored her. We flagged down a taxi on the Bristol ring road and directed it to the Holiday Inn in town. There was no way I could see us rolling up at the caravan, with all the explanations required for suspicious parents. Luckily, I had a hundred quid in my purse which amazingly no one had stolen and with Katies debit card, we should be able to get a room.

I was right, although we got the same sort of looks from the night porter we had at the place we'd just left. Probably thought we were a couple of semi pro whores. Come to think of it, he wouldn't be far out, would he?

I bagged the bathroom first , which is an event so rare it would probably have made Sky News if I could have been bothered to report it. Katie moaned, but the guilt which I was laying on her thick and fast made her keep the comments to a minimum. She knew I hated sleeping with guys, even nice guys, so although I never told her exactly what happened, she had a rough idea. At least her little threesome was with two members of the right sex for her preferences. As I sat in the tub, soaping myself over and over again and thanking my so called lucky stars the guy had at least worn a condom, I got a first proper look at my body. What I saw made me cry all over again. Inside my thighs, bruises from the rough treatment I'd got. But worse, the clear and livid evidence of fingermarks on my side and waist. The bastard had really gripped me hard. The alcohol and whatever drug they had used on me was now wearing off completely, and I ached inside and out. But those marks were going to take days to fade. What was I going to tell Naomi?


	4. Chapter 4

Naomi

Three days...three fucking _days_. Three days of ignored calls and one line text responses. I have no idea what I've done to deserve this, but Emily is definitely giving me the cold shoulder. If it had been anyone else, any previous budding relationship, I would have cut my losses and kicked her to the curb by now. But it's not, its her.

So I've suffered in relative silence and persevered with my pursuit of the little brunette who's captured my heart.

It was all going so well, so perfectly smoothly up to now, I suppose I should have expected the bubble to burst. It usually does for me. Apart from Annabelle, my relationships have followed a pretty familiar pattern. Initial attraction, a short period of sexual pleasure, (very short if it was a guy), then disillusion and painful breakup. But I thought this was different, _she_ was different.

The last time I saw her, we were doing our usual strung out sloppy kissing goodbyes at my apartment door. She was going home to change before meeting her twin sister Katie so they could travel together to her sick grandma's in Bath. I mean, what could be more prosaic and nonthreatening than that?

I'd even phoned her on the Saturday night about 7 to see how things were going. She seemed at bit flustered, but I put that down to concern over her granny and the presence of her sister. I'd already had a brief acquaintance with Katie at the massage parlour and she didn't seem like the over friendly type. The sort of uber straight girl I normally avoided like the plague. They wear their straightness like a badge of honour, as if merely associating with a gay girl might infect them too. I shudder to imagine what growing up with a twin like that would have been like for Emily.

But anyway, after that brief phone call, nothing...nada. I tried Emily on Sunday morning, but just got a one line text saying she was staying over another night as her gran was a bit worse. So I left it until Monday evening before trying again. If her grandmother was that sick, I knew badgering Emily wouldn't help if the old girl really was on her last legs. I concentrated on work, just sending the odd supportive text. You know "thinking of you" stuff.

Neil, my boss, called me into his office on Tuesday morning and asked for a progress report on the underage prostitution case. I managed to flam him that I was getting close to the truth, even though it was a complete lie. Finding out about pubescent runaways blowing businessmen for cash had taken a distant back seat to exploring Emily Fitch from the moment I met her. My usual ultra professional work persona was on vacation it seemed. And Neil figured that out quickly enough. You don't get to be news editor by being gullible. So now I got to find out that he'd already assigned another investigative reporter to the story to 'assist'. And boy, didn't that sting. Specially when I found out it was that new bitch, Sasha. A year younger than me, all blonde highlights and Wonderbra with legs that went on for days. She'd left uni with a degree only slightly less prestigious than mine and had quickly charmed her way through most of the middle management. Or shagged...take your pick.

To add insult to injury, Neil now tells me that she's managed to get into a private party this fucker Max had hosted on Saturday night. Signed up for a temp agency, she'd been taken on as a waitress for the evening, serving drinks and canapes to the carefully selected guests. As I stood in Neil's office like a sullen schoolgirl just passed over for head girl, she proudly recounted the access she'd managed to get to his sordid little world. While Emily was mopping her ailing grannies brow and I was curled up on the couch with a large Shiraz, little Miss Snoopie had witnessed several underage girls performing whats referred to in the now defunct 'News of the World' as ' _unnatural sexual acts_ ' with the male and female guests. Sasha had a list of the guests and descriptions of all the participants, legal and illegal. My head buzzed with frustration. She'd made more progress in one night than I had in three weeks. But then she hadn't spent that three weeks with her head between a certain petite brunettes thighs, had she?

The final straw was when she produced an A4 envelope containing what she described as 'explosive photo evidence' of the debauchery. I didn't wait to leaf through them as she spread them across Neil's desk. It wasn't that I was squeamish about seeing the evidence, although it seemed to me to be dangerously close to looking at child porn, but my humiliation was already complete. I didn't need to hear Neil cooing in praise at her efforts, so I excused myself, telling them I had a lead of my own to chase up. I wasn't fooling anyone, as the triumphant smirk Sasha flashed me as I left proved as she followed me out.

"There are copies of these on your desk Naoms" she crowed as I fled. Right, I thought, just what I need right now. When I got to my desk I left the envelope unopened, tossing it into my drawer before grabbing my bag and growling at the pool PA to field my messages for a couple of hours. Now I had _two_ pressing reasons to see Emily. I needed to find out why she was avoiding me, and I needed to ask her some actual journalist type questions about her place of employment too.

Walking down Park Street, I rehearsed my speech. I had no idea if she was working today, but as I got nearer the parlor, I decided that even if she wasn't I could still glean something useful by volunteering for another 'massage'. At the very least it would iron out the kinks in my overstressed body. Maybe one of the other girls would be more forthcoming. I had no intention of asking for any 'extras', but it couldn't hurt to try again, could it?

As it turned out, it was all academic anyway. Just as I reached the junction of the street the parlor was in, I literally bumped into someone unexpected.

One Katie Fitch. Not on her own, but with someone I soon realised was none other than mummy dearest. Taller than the twins, with rather too much makeup and quite a broad Scottish accent, Mrs Fitch was a revelation. Just not in a good way.

Katie started to bark at me for daring to block her serene progress round the fashion shops, but stopped dead when she recognised my face. Mummy picked up the connection straight away. No flies on the older Fitch obviously.

"Friend of yours Katie?" she smiled with her crimson lips. Her eyes failed to carry on the deception of politeness.

"Friend of Emily's actually" I said, equally insincerely. Emily had told me a little about her fraught childhood and coming out traumas, so I wasn't about to be over friendly.

Her eyes narrowed briefly, before the fixed smile was back.

"Ahhh" she said slowly "So you're the young woman who's been monopolizing my youngest daughters time lately, nice to meet you at last"

Neither of us were under any illusion that it was 'nice' to meet up, but I carried on the charade. I needed to track down Emily and this was my best chance.

I noticed Katie wasn't being her normal bullish self while her mother was talking, which puzzled me a bit. I decided to take the initiative.

"Actually" I said brightly "I was hoping to see her today...is she at work this afternoon?"

Katie actually paled at that and it wasn't just me who noticed.

"No...Katie and Emily are having a little break for a few days... _Naomi_ , isn't it?" The woman smiled icily again "They've been working very hard lately...all those demanding clients...aromatherapy, reiki..."

Katie spluttered briefly before plastering the innocent look back onto her face.

I smiled back, not wanting to let her see I was confused as hell about what was going on. Obviously mama Fitch believed her girls were strictly legit masseuses, but...

"Right... well yes, what with her granny being ill and all...how is she, by the way?" I asked.

Katie bit her lip and looked away. Her mother just looked puzzled.

"Her granny?" she said flatly "Well, seeing as how the girls grandmothers have both been dead for several years, not well at all Naomi"

I must have looked as stupid as I felt. Dead grandmothers don't need granddaughter visits, except to overgrown graves. About a hundred different emotions went through my body as I stood there. Katie was still looking away, obviously wishing a worm hole would open up and swallow her. Mama Fitch was looking at me as if I needed supervision to be out on my own. I eventually calmed myself, although it was probably only 3 seconds later I got my voice back.

"Right...I must have...err... misunderstood, err Emily...sorry about that. Nice to meet you Mrs Fitch...bye Katie" I said in a voice I hardly recognised. Emily had flat out lied to me. I had no idea where she had actually been for the past 3 days, but now it didn't matter, did it? OK, I had lied to her when I first met her. But I'd corrected it as soon as I could. This was different. Emily was keeping multiple secrets, big fucking secrets, and considering the profession her and Katie had chosen, I had no wish to find out any more. My patented ' _get the fuck_ _out of here_ ' Campbell alarm system was clanging like a New York fire engine. I set my mouth into a firm line to stop my lip wobbling as it desperately wanted to, then spoke to a point just over Mrs Fitch's shoulder. I didn't trust myself to look into her smug face.

"Bye then..." I grated, spinning on my heel and retracing my steps back up Park Street. Fuck the investigation, fuck Emily Fitch, I had an appointment with a local wine bar and several very large glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon.

I got about 50 feet from them when I felt a sharp tug on my sleeve. I turned to give a volley to whoever had interrupted my less than dignified exit, to find a stony faced Katie Fitch glaring at me. She opened her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it.

" _Save_ it Katie" I hissed "Whatever you and Emily _really_ got up to Saturday night doesn't matter to me any more. She fucking lied to me...no, she's STILL lying to me. I don't need this, don't need your bullshit. Go back to your sordid little lives, I'm fucking done".

All the doubts I'd suppressed for weeks were stabbing at me mercilessly.

I started to turn back the way I was heading, but this time the tug on my arm was savage.

"No you fucking _don't_ Blondie" Katie said, pushing herself up to her full 5'2" and staring at me aggressively. "Before you get back up on that high horse, you're going to listen. I have no idea what my sister sees in you. Personally I think you're so up yourself its amazing there's room for her fingers in there, but that's by the way. Yes, she lied to you. But its not what you think. We were working, but she didn't want to upset you by telling you that. You knew what we did for a living going in. You might be kidding yourself that you're this squeaky clean, oh so professional journo, seeking out the fucking noble truth or whatever. But we both know you dropped your knickers for my sister about ten seconds after you met her. Didn't bother you much then, did it? So stop being a cunt and let her explain...?"

I shook my head. That might all be true, but I had the distinct feeling I wouldn't like Emily's truth any more than I did her lies. It was always easier to run from what was hurting me. I was pretty fucking good at it. Why change horses now?

"Sorry Katie" I said, shaking my head "My instincts are telling me to get the fuck out of this relationship before I get really screwed over. And I always listen to my instincts. It's over."

She regarded me for a couple of seconds before nodding. I could see Fitch the Elder tapping her feet and looking at her watch a few yards down the pavement.

"Fair enough" Katie said eventually. "I said to myself I'd try. If you want to be a complete shit about it, she's well rid of you. Go back to your perfect life with your middle class friends. Just don't change your mind. If I hear you've been near her again, I'll bury the heel of these expensive Manolos in your skull...clear?"

Clear it was. I nodded stiffly and walked away. I almost made it to the corner before my eyes blurred with stinging tears.

XXX

 _About the time Naomi was changing her mind about the wine bar, deciding instead to go straight home to the anonymity of a solitary vodka bottle, Katie Fitch was having a rather awkward conversation with her sister. Her mother being given the slip somewhere between River Island and Top Shop..._

Emily

"You said _WHAT_?" I screamed...balling my spare fist and staring at the phone in my hand. Katies disembodied voice echoed from the handset as she relayed her recent conversation with Naomi.

" _Fuck_ , Em...what was I _suppose_ _d_ to say? Mum was right there. I told the silly bitch she should talk to you, but you're the one who's been ducking her for the past few days. She's a reporter for Christ's sake...didn't you think she might get a tiny bit curious about why you've completely dropped off the radar? Sick fucking granny? That wasn't exactly story of the century, was it...what's the matter, ' _dog ate your homework_ ' out of stock this month?"

I didn't appreciate Katies attempt at gallows humour. All my hopes and dreams about my rose tinted future with Naomi presently lying crushed at my feet, as it were.

"Couldn't you just have...?" I floundered, not really having an answer myself, but not wanting to let Katie off the hook, considering it WAS all her fault in the first place.

Katie, of course, didn't see it that way. Her ex's were dead to her the minute she disposed of them. She always taunted me that lesbians lived a sort of accelerated love life. You know, meet, fuck frantically every minute you can, move in together, then breakup before the weekend is over. The fact that there was some truth in that didn't make it any easier to stomach.

"Oh God" I breathed "This is a fucking nightmare. I've got to speak to her...put her straight about..."

"About going to a party, getting shagged senseless by two complete strangers?" Katie said dryly.

"Not fucking helpful" I growled, the sick feeling in my stomach growing by the second. I knew this would all come back to bite me. Just when I thought I'd got a proper relationship...just when I was on the verge of leaving my seedy job and making a real go of something, fate fucks me in the arse again. I squealed in frustration. Why couldn't I just do things right for a change?

"I have to speak to her" I muttered, more to myself than to my sister, who was still breathing into the phone her end. I heard her tut as I said it.

"Forget her Ems" she said flatly "If she's prepared to break it off just because of a white lie...?"

"White lie?" I gasped "Even for you Katie, thats fucking impressive. I don't think lying to my girlfriend about where I'm going, getting drugged, then spending an hour being spit roasted by Mr and Mrs Businessperson of the Year in a posh hotel quite qualifies as a white lie. More like the blackest whopper of the century. I fucking _cheated_ on her Katie...that's like, pretty fucking dark, as lies go?"

Katie huffed again. I suppose by her standards, it was a regular day at the office. Certain members of the Bristol Rovers reserve team had happy memories of my sisters ability to take on two at a time, or so the toilet walls at the Holiday Inn were rumoured to record

"Look, I got shagged by randoms too. I dunno what was in that champagne upstairs, but I think it had more to do with a pharmacy than a vineyard Ems. I only remember bits of that night, and even if I am a bit more experienced with pork swords than you, it wasn't something I'm proud of. But it's done hun. Deal with it. We're nearly there, money-wise. Another month at the milking parlor and we'll have plenty of cash...we can..."

I clicked the cancel call button while she was still trying to rationalise the cluster fuck known as my love life. I don't think Katie would ever understand, if I repeated myself for a hundred years. I'd lost something precious and no amount of persuading would put that right. I thumbed a text to Naomi, knowing it was probably hopeless.

" _Sorry...I know you don't want to hear this, but its not what you think...talk to me?"_

Yeah, I know, fucking cheek, right? NOW I want to talk to her... But what else was there to do? I couldn't face the idea that I would never see her again. I'd fucked up, spectacularly. But surely she'd give me the chance to explain.

Wrong.

That text, and the twenty more I sent over the next few hours, went unanswered. So did my calls and voice-mails. Dozens of them. I considered going to her apartment, but it was in a secure block, with an entryphone. If she wouldn't answer her phone, I had no doubt she would ignore me if I called there. Katie had reattached herself to my mother, or at least her debit card, so I knew I'd get no sense out of her until her obsessive search for the perfect pair of heels was satisfied. My Dad, bless him, was job hunting and conversations with my little brother James usually ended in physical violence. Mainly because all his interests were gynecological...

I couldn't stand another second in the damp caravan, so I scrubbed my tear stained face, put on a simple plain sweat shirt and jeans (Katie would have called it my lesbian work clothes) and, stuffing my phone in my back pocket, left the caravan park on foot, heading for the City centre.

A half mile walk and a short bus ride later, I was standing outside the less than impressive offices of the Bristol Post. What I was doing there, I couldn't really say. I knew it was highly unlikely Naomi would be there. Without being big headed, I knew she would be as upset as me. She was probably drowning her sorrows in some wine bar, studiously ignoring my endless calls and texts. But I had to try...something. The reason we'd met in the first place was because of her job. One thing I knew for certain from Saturday night was that her suspicions about underage girls being traded for sex by Max and his crew were spot on. At least two of the kids I saw at the hotel were school age. And I don't mean 6th form. There were always rumours about runaways and kids homes in the City. Recent stuff in the national paper about what celebrities got up to in the 70's with gullible kids was nothing new. But I had first hand knowledge. I might be wasting my time trying to win Naomi back...I think that bird had flown...but surely I could do _something_ right?

The reception area was all wood and glass. Relic of the grand colonial Bristol past. Not many people know this nowadays, but my home town was built on one main commodity...people. It had been for decades the centre of the British slave trade until William Wilberforce finally got abolition through Parliament. At one time dozens of tall masted slave ships massed in Bristol docks, spewing their cargo of human misery onto the quays. The city built its wealth and architecture on the capture and exploitation of West Indian and African people.

Kind of ironic that this grand old building, with its faded elegance and Edwardian paneling was now involved in exposing another form of trafficking. This time it was the poor and abandoned native children of the town itself. Used and abused by rich and arrogant men. Nothing really changes, does it?

I took a deep breath and approached the desk, where an over made up teenager with the beginning of a sneer already on her face, waited for me to speak.

Five minutes after that, I was following a rather cute bottom up the wide staircase. She said her name was Sasha, and she was very interested in any information about the activities of my boss...

XXX

Across the City, Naomi Campbell was lying across her bed. Half a box of screwed up tissues littered the bedroom floor, along with a 3/4 empty litre bottle of supermarket vodka. Her panda streaked cheeks and red rimmed eyes testament to her three hour alcohol and misery jag. She slept the sleep of the utterly drunk. Alone again...naturally...


	5. Chapter 5

Naomi

Getting up for work this morning was as bad as its ever been and its been bad in the past let me tell you. The hangover I got making out all evening with Miss Russian Vodka 2016 was head splitting, but add to that the crushing reality of my totally fucked up love and professional life and it sort of spiced up the mix even more.

Half an hour in a really hot shower sorted the worst of the hangover, aided by three extra strength painkillers. I forced down a tumbler of fresh orange juice and burnt my tongue with a scalding coffee afterwards. My stomach rebelled big time, but eventually the room stopped swimming and the heavy construction crew inside my head packed up for a much needed tea break. I dressed myself with care, just a plain white button up blouse, black knee length skirt and plain dark grey flats. I had no desire to make myself look any more than businesslike today. Sasha the bitch had stolen my assignment. I had no illusions that Neil was getting her to 'help' me. Fuck me up the arse with a knobbly cucumber? Yep. That was more the strength of it. She was off and running, hunting down witnesses and evidence. The chances of me happening on anything useful about this case were minimal, especially as my prime source of information, the treacherous Fitch girl, had decided to go native on me.

I should have known better, I scolded myself for the thousandth time since last night. Once a tart always a tart. Obviously the lure of money had outweighed her declarations of loyalty to me. Again, I should have known better. Three fucking weeks of being with her and I'd pretty much thrown everything I'd worked for away. My job was in tatters, my would be fiancée gone never to return. My mum was under the definite opinion that I'd lost my mind. Ditching a 'nice' girl in favour of one that worked in a posh knocking shop was a hard sell, even to my hippy dippy mother, with her infinite ability to see the best in people.

I'd fucked up big time. End of.

But I've always been able to compartmentalise. Its got me through some pretty dark shit in the past. So I took a deep breath, checked the messages on my Blackberry Priv (deleting the seven new texts from you know who) and picked up my one extravagance, the Mulberry Alexa leather bag I'd treated myself to on getting this job...well even I have to admit to loving quality... and let myself out of my apartment. Going down in the lift, I smiled politely at Mrs Greaves as she got in too. She lives across the hall with two cats. The fact that I was alone, and not escorting Emily home after a nights hard shagging probably earned me the thin smile back, forced though it was. Not exactly the most open minded of neighbours, Mrs Greaves, but then, with a face like that, her love life was probably of the distant memory variety...

Cruel? I'd call it harsh but fair.

Breathing in the toxic Bristol early traffic fumes, I jumped a bus and sat looking out of the window gloomily till it pulled up outside the 'Post' offices. Smiling again (God, that's two smiles this morning, far more than my normal ration) at the security guys, I took the lift to the second floor and prepared to eat some more humble pie. Not exactly the breakfast of champions, but I wasn't in a position to argue about the menu.

Neil was just coming out of his office when I got out of the lift. In his usual distracted way, he fumbled with a sheaf of reports, almost dropping them all as he looked for God knows what. I prepared to offer up yet another meaningless polite smile, but he saved me the trouble.

"Ah...Naomi...I need to see you...can you come back in five minutes?...Get yourself a coffee and stow your stuff first...OK?"

I nodded without answering. Well. It was either the boot or another assignment. I knew that from experience. I'd witnessed Neil sacking more than one cub reporter since I'd been there. It wasn't his strong point. He usually called in his hard faced PA Nicola if that was the plan, so I knew if I got back and she was there, I was out.

I walked quickly to my desk, groaning under my breath at the dozen yellow post it notes on the screen. Messages from various people, but three, overwritten with repeat requests from a Miss E Fitch. Fuck, I thought, is there no escape?

I left it 4 minutes before bracing myself and walking quickly to Neil's office. No sign of Sasha in the newsroom I was pleased to note, but then realised she was probably out working my fucking assignment, so it wasn't that lucky for me. I got a few questioning looks from the people I passed in the corridor, but I ignored them, keeping my eyes firmly on the door at the end. Wood panelled and with a brass plaque stating 'Neil Passmore – News Editor' screwed to it. Before I got to it, I risked a quick look into his PA's office to my right. I breathed in sharply as I noticed her desk was empty. Fuck...this is it then, I thought. Unemployment beckons.

I knocked less than firmly on his door and the gruff " _Come_ " didn't settle my nerves any. But when I got inside I let out the breath I had been holding. No sign of hatchet Nicola, just Neil, sitting in his shirt sleeves, gazing out of the window at the Bristol rooftops, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. Like all public places, smoking was forbidden in this building, but Neil insisted on having a fag at hand at all times, even if he couldn't smoke it. He spun in his chair as I entered and smiled a narrow smile at me. Like I said before, his laid back approach hid a razor sharp mind. Anyone who was fooled by his 'couldn't really give a fuck' attitude was quickly disabused of that theory if they crossed him. He was pleasant enough day to day as a boss. But give him reason and he'd cut you off at the knees without a blink.

I swallowed as he shuffled more papers on his desk before finding what he was looking for. Finally he looked up at me over his reading glasses.

"Bit of a cluster fuck, the last assignment, yeah?" he asked smoothly.

I swallowed again. No point in bullshit. He'd smell it in a millisecond and have my guts for garters straight afterwards. I decided honesty was the best policy.

"Right" I said glumly "I got too close...thought I could get inside information, but it all went tits up..."

"Very appropriate turn of phrase Naomi" he said slowly "Seeing as how you've been screwing the pretty little chief witness for 3 weeks?"

Despite my best intentions, my face reddened immediately. How the fuck did he know so much? Then I remembered...Sasha, of course. If she had access to the inner circle of Max Roberts sordid little empire...

"I think you should take a leaf from Sasha's book" he carried on "By all means get close...by all means get _friendly_. But there's a line Naomi...and you've crossed it by a country mile. I could have forgiven you getting tempted and getting your leg over the little Fitch girl... _once_...she is very easy on the eye"

I winced at that. I never considered what Emily and I had to be a casual fuck and I had to bite my lip not to argue with his flippant statement. I deserved a bollocking, I knew that, but it burned to have my short, passionate affair referred to as a 'leg over'. But he was holding all the aces here. He had my job and my future in journalism in his hands. I kept my face as neutral as it would stay, given the circumstances and waited for him to continue.

"But forgetting _why_ you were dealing with her at all was pretty unprofessional of you, yeah?"

I nodded. What the fuck else could I say?

"Anyway" he breathed slowly, looking down at the papers in his hands "Thats a lesson learned...I hope?" He looked up at me with eyes that held mine firmly and I nodded again.

"Sasha's made quite a bit of progress since yesterday. Your little brunette has been very helpful with information about the people who come and go...sorry, couldn't resist it" he smirked and I hated him for a second. Come and go...that's about the size of it, I realised. Punters go in, come and then go. Me included.

"But seriously...whatever went on between you two...and I don't really want to know the details, despite what you think...she _has_ been very helpful with stuff we didn't know. Details _you_ could have gained from her weeks ago. There are at least two girls of 13 we know of, missing from one particular children's home, who were present at that party on Saturday night. We've identified them both and Miss Fitch is sure they're being held now at a safe house in the city, ready for the next lot of perverts to take advantage of them. I know 'your' Fitch and her sister were also at the party, but it seems according to her, they were _less_ than willing visitors. But that's by the way. Officially you are off the story. I can't really bump Sasha off it right now, can I? I know she's a pushy cow, and wants to topple you off that pedestal you're on, but she's bloody effective. And you've been very much off your game recently. So I'm assigning you to another investigation..."

I opened my mouth to protest, knowing before I spoke it was pointless. I still had my fucking job, for Christ's sake, wasn't that enough?

Neil held up his hand before I said a word.

"I know...I _know_ " he smiled at my obvious distress "Bitter pill and all that. But let me finish first. _Officially_ , you're off the case. I want a decent reporter to investigate the Orwell Nursing Home in St Pauls, and you're it. We've had information that some of the staff are abusing elderly residents. You know, the usual stuff, slapping, refusing to change their beds, verbal abuse...the normal shit that goes on when the private sector gets hold of public money. The place is a gold mine for Mr and Mrs Rachid, who supposedly run it. Fifteen hundred quid a month per resident is what they charge for dirty sheets, non English speaking staff and piss poor care. And we pick up the fucking tab. You and me, the tax payer. I want evidence and you're going to get it for me, understand?"

I nodded again, fucking hell, he must think I've gone dumb, I thought bitterly. Usually I have a sharp answer to anything he says. I really AM off my game.

"But _unofficially_ Naomi...I want you to keep a watching brief on this _Careless Hands_ place. Now you've had your fingers burned getting a bit too close to the pretty girls, you need to remember what you do for a living. Sasha is off today, dentists or something...wisdom tooth. I want you to pay another visit to our local pedo parlour. This time without actually sampling the goods, right?"

"Yeah...I understand" I said thickly. Nodding again would have been too embarrassing "But under what pretext?"

"Don't be dim Naomi...it doesn't suit you" Neil said, looking back at his paperwork. "There are other masseuses there? Why don't you have a crack at the sister...Katie, isn't it? According to Emily, her sister is fiercely straight. Shouldn't have any problems with wandering hands, should you? If you can get her on board, and see if she has any more information, we'll have two prime sources to count on when we publish and send the evidence to Bristol's finest. Mind you, I'll have to call in a favour with the Commander. If we just drop a file in the lap of the local Vice Squad, it'll get deliberately 'lost'. According to Sasha, at least two local senior uniforms were at that party. So the corruption goes a long way up the tree"

I blinked in surprise, then scolded myself for being naïve. Of course Max would have police protection. And what better protection than involving senior coppers in his sordid little porno parties. They're hardly likely to start investigating him if they're dipping their wick in under-age fanny themselves, are they?

I took the file he held out. He kept his head down as I left. Frankly I was numb. I had been expecting to get canned this morning. Fucking the witnesses is dumb, but also potentially job threatening. But I'd got away with it. And not only that, but I still got to be involved, even if it was on the periphery. Sasha wasn't going to get all the glory. The fly in the ointment, well the two flies, were the Fitch twins. Talking to Katie after the way we left the last conversation was going to be...bumpy. But I also ran the risk of barging into the last person on earth I wanted to see. But what choice did I have? This was the last chance saloon for me with the Post. It was only because Neil had a soft spot for me that I was still employed. One fuck up was allowed. But another would mean Job-seekers Allowance. I shuddered at the thought. Meeting Katie again would be tough, but not as tough as being unemployed in Tory Britain. Fuck it.

I paused just long enough to grab the envelope with the photo's Sasha had given me yesterday from my drawer and headed out of the building. It was too early for visiting the parlour, but if I nipped back home and got my car, I could head on over to St Paul's. On the bus I worked out my cover story. I invented an elderly mother who needed assisted living. My mum would have been horrified if she'd known I was basing my fictitious parent on her, but whatever. Using my real mums identity and address wasn't something I usually did, but I hated the sort of scum who abuse old people for cash. My mum would understand, once I'd nailed the fuckers, I persuaded myself.

Unlocking my Mini, I dropped my bag, with the envelope of photo's inside, on the back seat. It was only a short drive to St Paul's but I needed to sit outside the care home for a while, getting myself prepared. I phoned ahead, using my cover story and had been told it was fine for a visit. My invented elderly mother was going to have slight dementia and mobility problems. I hoped that was going to get me the guided tour. I knew these places would put on a bit of a show for a potential £18,000 a year 'client' but reporters have a nose for bullshit. It was the areas and people I _wasn't_ allowed to visit I was interested in. I'd already downloaded a floor plan of the building and a copy of their glossy online brochure. That was the fantasy. I was interested in the facts.

XXX

An hour later, I left with everything I needed. I'd been carefully kept away from the residents, apart from one old boy, obviously a stooge, who kept parroting how wonderful the place and staff were. His lines were so rehearsed it was painful. One door inadvertently opened as we passed it and the stench of old urine and unwashed body wafted out. It was slammed straight away, but it was enough to confirm that Neil's opinion of the place was right. The show apartment and the public areas were clean and tidy, but fuck knows what horrors all those closed doors hid.

I sat in the car and wrote up some notes. I needed to contact some relatives next, so I checked the electoral roll on my tablet before noting down some prospective sons and daughters to call. I emailed my notes to Neil, just so he'd know I was actually _working_ this morning, not busy fucking the help, and settled back in my seat, rubbing the back of my neck. The hangover was still hovering in the back of my head, but necking another painkiller and washing it down with the bottle of water I always kept in the car would keep it at bay.

Then I remembered the envelope. I really, _really_ didn't want to see those photo's, but this leafy avenue with minimal foot traffic was as private as I was going to get at least this morning. I opened the cotton wound privacy tab and after checking around me for stray pedestrians, I pulled out the sheaf of a dozen or so A4 size prints.

Max going in to the building...which looked like a golf club or country house...accompanied by his peroxide wife, check.

Several couples all well dressed, going in too, check

Then two shots of clearly under aged girls being hustled from a taxi and up the steps. They looked like my young cousins, more suited to a school disco than this fuckery. I winced. I remembered myself at 14. Sex was just an abstract thing to me then. These girls were about to endure the grim, loveless reality.

Then the shot which made my heart thump. Emily and Katie climbing the steps, in matching revealing purple cocktail dresses, looking (although I tried very hard not to think it) _incredibly_ hot together. The twin thing was obviously not just a male preserve then I thought wryly.

Another shot, taken from the kitchen door, by the look of it. A long table, several couples, dressed to kill sitting round it. But in between every couple, a girl. Some in their late teens, some, like the twins, in their early twenties, but at least three very young girls, looking sort of bewildered at the attention being lavished on them.

Then the worst ones. Two shots looking down the stairs as one after the other, the girls were led upstairs. A couple to each girl. My stomach started to churn at what I knew for certain would come next.

The next two were blurry but far too recognisable. The first, a nude Katie, between two naked guys, being mauled possessively on a bed. Her face flushed and her eyes glassy. The next of Emily, in another room presumably. This time only half naked, her dress round her calves, kneeling on the floor at the foot of a bed, her head buried between the open thighs of a half dressed woman. I didn't need a diagram to tell me what she was doing. I'd been the recipient of that clever little tongue many times over the past weeks. No wonder the woman was open mouthed, gasping. But just behind Emily was a guy, the woman's husband?, Just about to mount my fucking girlfriend. I felt the gorge rise in my throat. I just managed to open the door of the car before the orange juice and coffee from this morning made an unwelcome reappearance. Lucky for me no curious walkers disturbed my misery as I retched and hawked..

Seeing the pictorial evidence of your lovers betrayal is more hurtful than I thought I could ever experience. But even after I'd thrown up, I couldn't stop myself flipping through the rest. Thankfully no more of the twins. But there were several of obviously under age girls servicing both men and women in various rooms. I don't know if any of the schoolgirls worked in the massage parlour as well, but none of them looked like novices at the oral arts. Again my stomach churned, but there was nothing left to upchuck, so I drank some more water before using the small plastic bottle of mouthwash I kept in the glove compartment to cleanse my mouth properly.

So I had the evidence now. In full sickening colour. Emily being tag teamed by some random couple, while I sat at home dreaming about us and a rose tinted future..

Charming.

" _Once a tart, always a tart...she played you like a fucking violin_ " my vengeful brain chanted at me gleefully.

My headache came back with a vengeance, but I was beyond paracetamol now. Gritting my teeth, I stuffed the awful truth back into the brown envelope and started the car.

Ten minutes later I was parking outside the Careless Hands Massage Parlour. Time for some home truths I thought.

The receptionist gave me a funny look as I told her what and _who_ I wanted, but took my debit card payment with a poker face. She picked up the internal phone and had a hushed conversation with someone. I could hear an angry female voice on the other end, then the line clicked. I'm guessing my request wasn't welcomed by La Fitch senior.

I got an apologetic grimace and she suggested another masseuse? Apparently _Emily_ would be free in ten minutes? I shook my head firmly. I wanted the girl I'd asked for. This time when the receptionist pressed another button on the phone, a male voice answered. Several seconds passed, then she put the phone down.

"Won't be a moment" she smirked at me "Max is just having a word with your chosen masseuse...shouldn't be too long"

A minute later a stony faced Katie Fitch emerged from behind the red curtain hiding the corridor where the 'treatment rooms' were located.

"Katie" I smiled insincerely "So glad you're free..."

The look I got back could have turned me to stone...

"This way madam" she said in an icy voice "This way..."

I followed her down the corridor and into her own room. This should be interesting.


	6. Chapter 6

Naomi

The 'treatment room' door slammed behind us with a heavy thump. I had hardly had the time to open my mouth before I was faced with a volcanic Katie Fitch. Now I'd seen her mad before, pissed off, sarcastic. What I hadn't seen was this cold eyed Medusa in full flow. That situation was about to change.

"What the _FUCK_ , bitch?" she growled, standing there in her tight white uniform top and black stockings (the fact that I knew underneath that prim exterior lurked a revealing basque and not much else wasn't helping...but whatever)

I held my hand up to ward off her imminent explosion, but the lady wasn't for turning.

"Shut the FUCK up, _cunt_ " she hissed, advancing on me like some feral creature, about to attack. Her eyes were dark brown, like Emily's...her makeup perfection, also like her sister, but the expression on that pretty face was anything but welcoming.

"I **told** you to stay away from us..." she started, but this time I interrupted.

"No...you said stay away from _Emily_ , Katie. And that's exactly what I'm doing, or hadn't you noticed?"

Her fists bunched into white knuckled balls and I instinctively flinched, expecting a two handed assault, but it didn't come...not yet anyway.

"Are you fucking _mental_?" she asked incredulously "When I said stay away, I meant from both of us, from this place...from the same fucking postcode. What is it, too many hours spent with your head between a girls legs affect your hearing? Stay the _FUCK_ away from us Campbell. My sister is still in bits about you dumping her. She's barely able to function, let alone perform in this sleazy zoo. The last thing I need is for her to come out of her room to find you exiting MINE, like I've been servicing your fucked up perverted needs. I'd have to hide the vodka and sleeping tablets for months. Get the fuck out of here, _now_ , before she finishes with that fat cunt who booked her this afternoon. I mean **right** now..."

She went to move past me to the door, but I blocked her path. Again the feral growl and one of her hands gripped my forearm. It fucking hurt. I don't know what mama Fitch feeds these two, but it certainly gives them a lot more strength than 5'2" buys you normally. I winced at her grip, but managed to speak before she cut off my circulation.

"Hear me out Katie. The last thing I want is to bump into your sister. It may have escaped your attention, but I got _my_ heart broken too. It wasn't me who lied about where you both were Saturday night...and it wasn't me who entertained various randoms like...this"

I slipped the envelope out of my bag and drew out the two pictures Sasha had got of the twins 'entertaining' the smartly dressed couples in the private rooms of the club. For a second, I thought she was going to ignore them and just bundle me out, but curiosity isn't reserved for kittens. She flicked her eyes from my face for a second and I heard the gasp she let out as she recognised herself on that country club bed. She spun away from me, dropping my arm and snatched the glossy images up from the 'treatment' table, scanning both pictures with wide eyes.

"Where did you...who took... _ **FUCK!**_..." she finished. The angry look on her face disappeared instantly and just for a moment, I saw the frightened girl behind all the makeup and fuck you exterior. No one would like to see the public evidence of what they'd been up to in private, and she was no exception. Her face looked...somehow broken.

"Why are you doing this Naomi?" she asked quietly "Is this some sort of revenge? Because its really, really fucked up even for you, you know...I didn't, I mean Emily and I didn't..." she trailed off, still looking at the graphic images miserably.

"Katie" I said, a lot more calmly than I felt "This isn't revenge. Emily knew all along I was an investigative reporter. I didn't take those pictures. Despite what you think about lesbians, I can get all the porn I need from the internet. I don't feel the need to humiliate real fucking people. But the person who took over the investigation while I was busy being downright crazy about your sister does. And she doesn't give a shit about Emily's feelings, or yours. She's after the headlines and the promotion that goes with it. And if she gets it right, this set of prints will inevitably 'accidentally' find their place onto the web somewhere. The Post will be more discrete reporting it all of course, but some scummy reality porn site will pay good money to have pretty twins performing for the punters. Think about it...' _Bristol twins give out sexy_ _fun_ _to all comers in_ _posh_ _hotel_ ' Thats the sort of headline this sort of reality porn gets"

All the fight seemed to go out of her then. Her shoulders slumped and she looked up at me with scared eyes.

"My parents will disown us. For fucks sake, they actually think we spend the day massaging scalps and sore shoulders. My mum will die if she finds out not only do we flash our tits and offer cut price wanks to sleazy businessmen every day, but allowed ourselves to be drugged and group fucked at some sordid private party...with the gory evidence out there for all to see. We're _dead_..."

I actually felt sorry for her then. All her bluster and bravado had fled. It was mostly sisterly protection for Emily anyway. Inside I was still churning, and although I'd seen the prints already, I couldn't help my eyes wandering to them again. They might be blurry, but I recognised my now ex girlfriends face and body. Again I got a stab of pure green jealousy at the thought of other hands on her...other bodies... _inside_ her"

Katie must have seen my shudder because she gathered herself then scooped up the prints, ramming them into the anonymous brown envelope with a shudder of her own.

She took a deep breath and her eyes narrowed again.

"So...are you going to tell me why you _are_ here Naomi?" she said in a dull voice.

"To try to rescue this whole thing from blowing up in both our faces Katie" I said

"I'm off the case...at least officially...mainly because I managed to fall for the chief informant, but thats by the way now. My editor _has_ allowed me to still be involved, if just at the edges of the investigation. Despite how angry and hurt I am about what Emily did...and _what_ was that about being drugged anyway?...I want to nail the fucker who's setting up the _real_ victims in this. Those under-age kids who were also at the party. You and Emily might be hurting about being used like raw meat, but those kids had no choices at all. They didn't decide to be part time hookers, tossing off businessmen to make money. They've been trawled from the local children's homes. Barely teenagers, vulnerable to smooth, sick bastards like your Max. They might think they're grown up, but the fuckers that are exploiting them until they get too old at 16 need to be put behind bars"

I breathed heavily after that diatribe. If there's one thing I hate, its users like Max. Boys, girls, children, its all the same to those fuckers. People are just commodities to be used and discarded. We think that people sex trafficking is reserved for Albanian gangs and Arab sheikhs, but it's happening here and now, in our cities and towns, every day of the week.

But I also knew the crack about part time hookers would hurt and Katie blinked at my crude description. Frankly, I was past caring about her sensibilities. Her and her sister _were_ part time prostitutes, when you get right down to it. You can dress it up how you like, but no matter how much they needed the money, they were both essentially middle class, well educated young women with ample chances to pluck from life. No sterile children's homes, no abusive parents or carers for them. Just the shit luck to have a father who bled their money and home away and a desire to make cash in the quickest way possible. Choice, that's what it boiled down to.

"OK, OK...I...I mean I suppose we...deserved _that_ " she said quietly. "But what the fuck are we going to do about it? Those pictures are _out_ there. You've already said the other reporter is a prize bitch, only interested in getting the story. You can't do anything about it now, can you?"

I smiled, although there was no humour in it.

"Don't make the mistake of underestimating me Katie" I said flatly "I may be broken up about what your sister did to me, but I'm not in the business of humiliating people, especially people I have...I mean _had_...feelings for. I'll get the photo evidence of you two doing...whatever... suppressed if not destroyed and make sure the ones left on file are of the genuine victims. They _won't_ get published. Actual child porn is illegal...even for the investigative arm of the Bristol Post"

Katie stood up again, only slightly wobbly from the shock of my revelation. She looked up at me with those fucking annoyingly addictive Fitch eyes and forced her own face to crease into a weak smile.

"You'd do that for us...after all _this_...?" she indicated the happily now closed envelope.

"I would...but there's a price Katie..." I said quietly.

Her face got hard again and she sneered as I carried on looking at her without speaking.

"Of course...forgot you were a blood sucking fucking journo for a second there. What's it gonna cost me then? You know I'm the straight twin, yeah? If you're looking to get the full lesbo fingers and tongue treatment, that's more Emily's territory than mine...but I suppose if I _have_ to...I'll clean your pipes...it's been a while, but I'm sure I could remember what goes where if I really _had_ to...you'd better get those clothes off and that bony arse on the couch..."

I stared at her in shock. Of all the things she could have said, that wasn't one I was expecting. Then she grinned, and I knew she had been setting me up. Fucking cow.

"Fuck _off,_ bitch" I said shakily, trying hard not to imagine what it would feel like to have Katie Fitch going down on me. I had to suppress a totally unwanted mental image of that 'almost Emily' face between my open legs. Shit, I thought, for a millisecond there, I thought she was fucking serious, and my treacherous bloody libido actually considered it...Head fuck much?

"Gotcha...you big old lezzer" she smirked "Naah...I prefer the naked skin against mine to be male...and you're lacking a very important bit of anatomy babe. Sorry and all that"

She smirked again, and I gritted my teeth, choking back a nasty retort. Instead I fired back a tease of my own.

"Pity though...never had twins...must be nice to compare oral techniques...and if you're worried about the lack of a cock Katie, I have a nice big purple one indoors...you'd hardly know the difference after a while...Emily used to say when I was..."

"OK, OK" she choked, eyes wide with horror " _Enough_ already...I'm already emotionally scarred. Please save your sick lezzer fantasies for those long lonely nights in front of your laptop..."

We laughed together then and I thought briefly how nice it would have been if none of this shit had happened. Emily would have finished her stint here, got herself back into uni and we could have danced off into lesbian utopia, buying the odd ginger tom cat and putting up with her acidic sister when she came to stay. I realised that I could have actually been friends with Katie Fitch. Her hard ass attitude was mostly front. Underneath it, she was funny, acerbic and direct. Things I like in people, even vaguely homophobic bitches like her. Although again, I think that front was largely affected. With a twin sister as gay as a Selfridges shop front, I knew that Katie was much less bothered about the whole girl/girl thing than she made out. But the moment passed. The laughter died and we regarded each other seriously again. Time to get down to business.

"I need you to do some ferreting for me Katie" I said "Find out where the youngsters are being kept...and whether there's another party planned and where. It sounds like Sasha, my colleague has her hooks firmly in Emily. Just warn your sister that whatever she tells her _won't_ be used to actually help her get away with this. Sasha _will_ get Emily into trouble...maybe even into danger...and then she'll dump her like a hot coal. I _won't_ do that...I promise...right?" I finished.

"Yeah''' Like a promise from another journalist on a mission is solid gold, right Naomi?" Katie sneered.

"What's to stop you fucking us both over, just like the other bitch?" she asked, fixing me with a challenging stare.

I knew this was make or break. I really wouldn't have fucked them over, but I understood where Katie was coming from. I'd hurt her sister badly and what's more, was still on the case that could shatter their lives. Why should she trust me?

"The difference is Katie, I do... _did_...have real feelings for your sister. I might hate what she did, but I can't hate her. And getting you into trouble would hurt her too. So it won't happen. I'm asking you to believe one thing, that I don't want you or Emily being exposed. The investigation can still go on without revealing sources. The fact that Max and his buddies are regularly banging barely pubescent kids from a care home is the story, not you two getting suckered into it. Information is what I want. Give me that and you can finish your short and nasty stint here, take the cash you've made... I can come up with a few hundred quid informant money to help you out there... and you can go back to normal lives afterwards. Deal?"

It took a second or two, but finally Katie nodded.

"OK" she said "Deal. I just need to sell it to Emily now. She thinks that cow Sasha is her ticket to winning you back. I'll need to convince her that you don't hate her first of all. That's gonna be hard enough...she might not have seen you come in here, but your twenty minutes are up hun, the jungle drums in here are as effective as they are in darkest Africa. Some fucker is going to take great delight in informing her that you got the full Katie Fitch twenty minute session, especially as you made so much of a fucking fuss about getting me as your 'masseuse'.

"Yeah" I mused "That's going to be a hard sell, persuading her I didn't come in for one of Katie Fitches world famous three finger performances..."

She punched me on the arm. It fucking hurt and I congratulated myself in avoiding the initial two fisted attack. I think she could have done me serious damage if she really wanted to.

"Lezzer bitch" she giggled throatily, without malice "Now be a good girl and fuck off? I need to do some damage repair with my lady-lover twin. This should be interesting..."

I left without anything like the fuss as I went in with, but I swear I got a flash of dark hair and angry eyes from a partly open door as I passed down the corridor. I didn't stop to check. It was up to Katie now...

It was only when I got to the street that I remembered that bit about them being drugged on Saturday night...What the f...?

XXX

Emily

"You fucking _COW_!" I screamed at my sister, glad for once that the treatment room doors were thick wood and padded to boot. I'm guessing the management preferred the ecstatic groans of the punters went unheard in the corridor...

"You were in there twenty minutes with her Katie...what's the matter, jealous I got to her first...you're not even a _tiny_ bit gay any more, bitch...why...what..." I stumbled, not even sure I wanted the answer to my question. My sister stood there in her mock professional uniform, unblinking as I ranted.

I'd come out of my last 'session' with that that fat fucker Clive from the electrical goods store next door with a serious case of the creeps anyway. He asked for his usual 'extras' of course, but for some reason he didn't seem to be content with a flash of my frankly unimpressive tits and a perfunctory hand job. I didn't like doing him normally. He was less than diligent about his personal hygiene, and tossing him off was always an arms length job, if only to ensure he couldn't use one of those sweaty hands to cop a feel. With my bare tits only inches from his face, and the horrible memory of what I'd gone through on Saturday fresh in my mind, I wasn't about to give in to his demands for some...oral...pleasure. Quite apart from a deep and abiding aversion to putting something that ugly in my mouth, I was never going to risk his hands on my head once I had. I'd had only one distressing occasion in my teenage years to recall, but swallowing slime was never going to be on my to do list in future. I avoided his persistent requests and just speeded up my pumping. Luckily it did the trick. Ten seconds later he gave it up for Queen and Country. Sadly, the excitement generated by him anticipating me agreeing to suck him off made him quite the fire hose. My usual trick of dropping a wet wipe on the top of it just before blast off failed me. So once he left (at least tipping me an extra ten for the space shuttle blast off) I spent a minute or two searching for gruesome evidence on my uniform. I never quite got over that film ' _Something about Mary_ '. Cameron Diaz was definitely a regular performer in my night-time 'want to shag' dreams, but I never liked her choice in hair gel...let just leave it there, yeah?...

But coming out of the room after he'd left, I got a quick glimpse of peroxide hair and the unmistakeable waft of Roja Parfum in the corridor. One of a certain Naomi Campbell's rare extravagances, along with her designer bags. There was no way that was anyone else. It was instantly confirmed when I got to reception to find my sister standing there. The new receptionist. Gail, was chatting to her snidely and I screwed up my face, wondering what had happened. Had Naomi been in, looking for me...had my overprotective sister told her to fuck off? I quickly walked to the counter, ignoring a hopeful punter who was hovering by the door. I was due a break anyway, let some other poor fucker handle his equipment today.

"That was _her_...wasn't it?" I said, rather too eagerly as it turned out. The over made up face of the bottle redhead behind the jump turned to me and smirked nastily. She was one of those uber straight women who sneer at gay girls. I found that out on the first day she worked here when one of my regulars, Anna, came in for her usual and asked for me. Gail had made some catty remark and I slapped her down quickly before escorting my thirty something businesswoman to my room. Fucking cheek. Why was it OK for men to get their rocks off via a pretty woman and not a frustrated housewife?

But now it was payback time, apparently.

"Oh...was _that_ Naomi?" she said innocently, knowing all too well who it was, seeing as how she had swiped her credit card. "Too late Emily, I'm afraid...I told her you were busy, but anyway, she was _very_ specific about requesting Katie for her... _massage_...you twins do like to share and share alike, don't you?" she finished, looking down afterwards at her expensively crafted crimson nails. I opened my mouth to tell her to fuck right off, but Katie beat me to it.

"Gail...?" she said in a low voice I recognised all too well and moved closer to the woman. Gail leaned forward to hear what she said. My sister whispered something quiet and icy into her ear for about ten seconds and when Katie leaned back, Gail lurched away with a shocked look on her face.

"You wouldn't...I mean you'd get fired, arrested...she spluttered, her face white.

"Trust me" Katie said frostily "I would...and fuck being fired, it'd be worth it. Now get back to work you nasty bitch"

We left her staring after us as we went through to Katies room. My head was still spinning with the exchange and the fact that Naomi had been here...and not spoken to me. What the fuck did she want with Katie?

Once the door was closed I flew at Katie straight away.

"Why didn't you tell me she was here...I would have got rid of that fat bastard...and why did she ask for _you_ anyway? You didn't...?" I choked, my head full of images of Katie and Naomi on the treatment table. She wouldn't...would she? And _Katie_...not even gay for fucks sake. I know she'd tried it, but not with my ex? And now...while I was broken up about it?

"Calm down Ems" my sister said, alarmingly calmly "We didn't do the dirty deed, if that's what you're worried about...although she is quite fit...in a sort of stick up the arse, librarian way...I could do worse on a twenty minute session, I guess?"

That's when I exploded.

"WHAT?" I said angrily "Since when did you prefer the furry cup? Multiple hard on's are your speciality, aren't they?"

Katie let me rant for another few seconds before putting me out of my misery.

"Relax Emsy...I'm not changing sides just teasing you. Listen, things might be less than rosy in the Fitch Campbell love universe, but she's obviously not over you just yet. She came here with a proposal...no, not that kind...more of a business deal"

I stood with my arms folded, tapping my feet. My head was spinning with confusion. Business deal...what the actual fuck?

"She told me that other journalist... Sasha isn't it?... is a prize cunt. Any information you give her will be used in print, even if it drops us both in the shit. She brought in some photos the other bitch took on Saturday night. We're both in them, and not just smiling sweetly at the dinner table. Fuck knows how she got them, but there are at least two of you and me, with those bastards who drugged us and fucked us. And I mean... _explicit_ photos...no doubt who's in them and what we're doing and having done to us. If mum or dad ever see them they'll move to the fucking Outer Hebrides without giving us a forwarding address"

I gasped. So _that's_ why Naomi was so intent on blanking me. I thought briefly how I would feel if someone showed me explicit photo's of Naomi getting it on with someone else...then thought again how much worse I would feel if it wasn't just one person but two...at the same time. She must think I'm a rotten little tart, I thought miserably. If she never wanted to see or hear from me again, I could understand now. To think I'd accused her when we first met of treating me like a prostitute.

"Hold on sis" Katie said, seeing the abject misery on my face "She hated what we _did_ , even though she didn't know that we were GHB'd or whatever fucked up date rape drug they used. That _might_ make a difference, once she works out we weren't exactly willing participants in Max's little porno party. But that aside, she is still willing to help us...if we help her"

"But how" I said quietly "I already told Sasha everything I knew. She never mentioned any photographs to me..."

"Well, doesn't that tell you a lot?" Katie said firmly "As much as I think that big lezzer Campbell isn't good enough for you, she came here and told me everything, well at least I think she did. She kept correcting herself, saying she does...no _DID_...have feelings for you. Anyone who keeps getting past and present tense mixed up like that isn't fooling anyone. She's still well into you. Probably too much. It seems like she almost lost her job over you, but she still came here. We just need to help her with the investigation. Keep our eyes open. Sooner or later Max is gonna want us to go to another party. When he does, we'll say yes..."

"No!" I said quickly "I'm not risking being drugged and gang raped again, whatever you or she says..."

"No ones _suggesting_ that Ems" Katie said patiently "We don't have to fucking go, just let Naomi know where and when. The rest is up to her. You know the Post is only interested in under-age stuff. That's the bit she wants to nail him on..."

I nodded. It all seemed to be too good to be true, after the despair of the past few days. But greedy me, I wanted more.

"Did she...did she say anything about me?...I need to see her Katie...to explain about the drugs and...?" I said hopefully.

"Not a good idea at the moment Ems" Katie said brusquely "One thing at a time. She's obviously hurting still and turning up on her doorstep ain't gonna help. She needs to keep her distance for a while and so do you. If she cares for you as much as I think she still might...well, there's a chance, after this is all over. You'll just have to watch reruns of Lip Service for a few weeks and weep over someone else's love life..."

"Bitch" I said, smiling despite the pain in my poor heart.

"You know it" Katie smirked "But in the meantime...I have a horny plumber due in at 3 for a 're-bore'...he quite likes me bottomless, if you know what I mean...says it turns him on more than getting my tits out...? He's hung like a horse and..."

I fled the room with my hands over my ears. With any luck I would NEVER hear the end of that sentence in my lifetime...


	7. Chapter 7

Emily

My head was in a real spin after Katie went off to 'service' her plumber. God knows what she was planning. I never spent much time wondering what heterosexuals _do_ in bed. It sounds yucky and rough and usually messy, by the sounds of it. Never appealed to me even when I was a horny adolescent desperate to find another human being to prevent me going blind from self abuse. That activity was restricted anyway. Try growing up in a house where my mother prowled the corridors at night, listening for 'unnatural activities' as she charmingly put it. I was 14 before I realised that getting myself off with my fingers wasn't going to consign me to the fiery depths of hell.

Katie, of course, had totally ignored my mothers sage advice to abstain from self exploration in case of hairy palms and poor eyesight. When she finally let me in on the secret that she'd been using the bathroom to practice her technique for over a year, I was livid. All those nights wishing my sister was on a nunnery retreat whilst my thighs clenched and my stomach...and other places...almost glowed with frustration were just wasted time. I quickly made up for it, and the battle for the bathroom commenced. A bit like the 100 years war between the English and French, Never fucking ending. It wasn't always about masturbation time, Katie could hog the room and all the hot water for many reasons, but even so...I had to fight for me time. Add to that a small brother who had a twisted opinion about the idea of watching his older sisters strip off and shower so you can guess right that opportunities were at a premium.

And then, of course, Katie discovered boys, and what they wanted from her. The gift that keeps on giving my sister. Sure, the reputation she got was exaggerated, but not by much. She lost her virginity at 15, or so she told me, but spent the next 5 years perfecting her technique. I suffered many an uncomfortable hour, sitting upright in the front seat of cars on one of her insufferable double dates while she 'entertained' the guy with her in the back. Forget twincest, being close enough to hear your sister getting noisily fucked is as horrifying as it sounds. The guy unfortunate enough to draw _me_ in the Fitch twin stakes _always_ went home with a serious case of blue balls. I had no intention of holding, licking or, _shiver_ , sucking the grisly object I was usually presented with like first prize in the local pubescent phallus competition after his perfunctory attempt to get my tits out. Apart from one drunken and instantly regretted painful drunken shag with an older guy at a party, I was practically virgo intacto until I discovered my attraction to girls. I'd always wondered, especially when Katie was drooling over the contents of some hunks package in those lamo mags she read from cover to cover, why I spent more time looking at the female models. It wasn't as if I was sure about anything in those days. I just knew a pair of smouldering female eyes and the glimpse of their taut flesh made more of an impression on me than any number of gruesome David Beckham underwear ads.

Then I found someone who felt the same about sex as me. Zoe her name was. Short dark hair, gold nose stud and tiny tits on her boyish frame. But one homework session turned into a passionate kissing competition. If Katie hadn't come home early, I would have lost my innocence there and then, but it was only a matter of time. The very next day, I went to Zoe's house uninvited and spent a delicious afternoon with her in her parents bed, while they saved the planet, or whatever Green Party activists do with their time. She had a little experience, and boy did that go a long way. I learned that day what went where, what a girl felt like...inside...and then, when we'd almost exhausted each other with kisses and probing fingers, she showed me what a tongue felt like down _there_. I almost exploded from delight. Returning the favour without embarrassment or reluctance I instantly knew this was what sex was going to be like for me from then on. Of course, it helped that we liked each other as friends a lot, but we never pretended that love was on the horizon. Sex with Zoe was glorious, but non committing. I liked shagging her in as many ways as you can, given the limited opportunities we got, and she _adored_ shagging me. When she moved away, I regretted her going, but more because I would have to go back to pleasing myself until someone else came along.

I got my heart broken eventually by a girl of course. But _nothing_ had prepared me for the thunderbolt that was and is Naomi Campbell. From the moment she came into the salon, I knew somehow she was going to be the most important relationship of my life. I just _knew_. The sex was explosive and overwhelming of course, but there is also a vulnerability about her which she only reveals to me. The hard-ass attitude and uber professionalism she wears like a suit of armour outside, comes off when we're in bed together.

At least it did, until I fucked it all up.

And boy, have I fucked it up. Katies intervention this morning may have given me some hope that its not _all_ gone down shit creek, but she still hasn't spoken to me or acknowledged my calls and texts. I did consider ignoring Katie's advice completely and just go round there, but inevitably, another client turned up just as I was wavering. One more thirty something stiff dicked guy to reduce to jelly. It took me less than 5 minutes to do the business, and I think my 'couldn't give a fuck' attitude irked him a bit. I've never enjoyed tossing the punters off, but every time I do it, the cash register in my mind rings up another small step closer to resuming a normal life. I can't take back what happened last Saturday, especially now Naomi has the visual evidence, So I'm just going to have to admit it all and hope she can forgive me eventually, but I don't have to enjoy what I do for a living in the meantime, do I?

6pm couldn't come soon enough, but eventually, I did my quota for the day and washed my hands scrupulously after wiping down every surface in my room and using a liberal amount of air freshener to cleanse the atmosphere. Without veering into gross territory, the...err... _odour_...of freshly satisfied men is not my perfume of choice. I dressed quickly into normal street clothes and met Katie in reception. As we left, giving the receptionist a dose of double Fitch glaring as we did, Katie prattled on about her 'hung like a horse' plumber who had apparently tipped her a nice crisp extra £50 for a job well done. I shudder to think how she earned it. I bet the mouthwash got a hammering...

Minutes later, I left Katie at the nearest shoe shop and trudged sadly home...alone again.


End file.
